


i’m winning so they had to dump the gatorade (i don't give a f*ck about my family name)

by dankobah



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Blame Each Other Challenge, Enemies to Lovers, Politics, Slow Burn, east coast blue bloods???? boston blue bloods????, i ship ben/mental health, i ship rey/autonomy, think of the organa-solos like the kennedys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2019-12-26 20:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18289739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dankobah/pseuds/dankobah
Summary: “I’d rather have sixteen teeth pulled than marry you.”Her cheeks flame as if she’s been slapped.  Before she can think, “I can arrange that.  Or my fist can.  Take your pick.”  Forcibly setting her shoulders, Ben’s imposing all by accounts but she’s ready to verbally uppercut him in the throat.“I’ve never been known to babysit.  Especially brats like you.”





	1. rich kid, asshole (paint me as a villain)

**Author's Note:**

> **tags **:  
> ****  
>  death mention  
> violence mention  
> overall marriage fuckery  
> jesus christ just let them like each other for once, its not that hard

She’s itchy.

So, so itchy as she squirms in her seat at the table with her hired friends, that are currently gushing over the picture-perfect afternoon tea spread that sits in front of them.  Pantyhose, akin to the ones that Leia tried to force her into upstairs, would’ve made the situation even worse than the purgatory she had checked into in July. Usually, Rey would be digging into the little cakes and finger sandwiches, but her appetite has evaporated.  

A wedding shower is supposedly one of the highlights of this whole marriage process, and Rey believes it would be if she doesn't have a loaded gun to the back of her skull.  The holder is circling the table once more as she compulsively scratches along the previously waxed skin of her thighs. The slit up the skirt of the dress requires perfect legs, while Rey is known for bumps and bruises and scrapes on her knees.

“Don’t scratch.”  A hand settles on her shoulder, Rey turning her head to look behind is out of the question as she blinks to slate her brain to coveted serenity.  Leia Organa begins chattering to another senator’s daughter, some awful girl named Steela that glares at Rey every second she gets, batting her eyes at Rey’s soon-to-be husband like a pornographic caricature.  In fact, if Rey pauses to reflect, all of the ladies at her coveted bridal table bat their eyes towards Ben like he’s a god amongst insignificant men.

Rey doesn’t care about Ben.

She hasn’t cared about him since the sparkling engagement ring was slid onto her finger after the contract was signed in a lovely script.  Ben’s looked like a flourish, all deep black and with a fountain pen. Hers was blue chicken scratch, a pragmatic engineer’s writing with a few more loops.  

Rey previously thought her fall was going to be spent in Vermont, watching the leaves change and snowfall on the slopes she was going to ski in the coming winter.  A season spent with her mother, Ahsoka, at their tiny house in Burlington, yellow exterior and Victorian.  Spartan in comparison to the Tano family’s comrades, small rooms and faded floral wallpaper colored every year since fifteen.  Before that, it had been the dingy and faded blue paint in her foster home, walls thinner than a knife edge and holding secrets.

The floral wallpaper she lost her virginity under is cheap in comparison to the floral carpet in the Dome Room at the Lenox.  Any east coast baby worth her salt would want any part of her nuptials here, with the domed powdery blue ceiling and chandeliers, whereas Rey always imagined some fairytale field that would get her calves muddy; if she would've gotten married aside from this arranged torture.  The allure of hightailing it out of here and pawning the heirloom ring is at its peak, the kettle of a temper near whistle at Leia Organa’s chirps.

If Rey is meant to be the equivalent of Padme Amidala, the ring certainly pushes the notion and comparisons into a downhill roll.  The engagement ring is massive given that she only wears it in public and nowhere else. Five carats isn’t something you walk around within the public eye, especially given that she refuses security on a biweekly basis when it’s graciously offered time after time.  Rey is the new and mysterious girl in the family, thrown out of nowhere to blindside pretty much all news outlets. Ben Organa-Solo getting married is enormous news, given his past abrasiveness and media phobic attitude. His thoughts on this whole charade is a mystery to her.  

He knew what the arrangement entailed before she did.  She found out in July while he seemed to be preparing his whole life for it.  She knows enough from deep internet dives to comprehend what exactly she’s marrying into and why all of this is so necessary to Ahsoka

\-------------

The Skywalkers are relatively new in the grand scheme of political families; Anakin Skywalker was born in 1931 by an unmarried immigrant named Shmi.  Shmi was a nobody, fresh off the boat from Hungary to save her and her son from the blanket of World War II. Dark hair and dark eyes hinted at something other than dominant genetics and the danger had been creeping up their throats.  Anakin is the beginning root of the family tree that would expand, collect, and stow away some of the best talents and secrets.

Qui-Gon Jinn saw _something_ in Anakin, who had graduated Princeton against the odds and expectations of most in sleepy Elkins, West Virginia.  Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Anakin had been itching to go to law school while Qui-Gon was a professor to Skywalker his last year at university.  There was the ability of mutual benefit, Anakin being a godlike fit for Democratic politics at the time. Qui-Gon had other plans, pulling him onto the Obi-Wan Kenobi’s senatorial campaign trail as a protege.

Obi-Wan and Anakin didn’t get along at first, the former judging the latter by how run and gun he was.  Anakin got what he wanted and looked sharp in a suit while Obi-Wan talked dangerous policy for Massachusetts.

On a trip to California in 1957 to rendezvous with Democrats to discuss the strengthening of the Senate, he met Padme Amidala-Naberrie.  The Amidala-Naberries are steeped in deep history, rumored to have branched off from an Italian ruling family. Whatever they came from, they packed a punch of power like none other that shook the Earth.   Anakin won Padme’s heart, his ability to love so profoundly coloring their relationship in dizzying yellows and pinks of sunsets and the dress she wore to their elopement in the vineyards of Naboo.

Of course, Ruwee Naberrie did not approve of his precious daughter shacking up with some no-name affiliated with Massachusetts, given that he had a marriage deal lined up with a devil of his own.  Padme did what any girl in love would do: run away with Anakin Skywalker to assimilate into East Coast society like a glove. She was perfect to an eye on the outside; everything a politician’s wife was supposed to be while holding a tight leash on Anakin to keep him in check.

Laws got passed because of Padme Amidala and her whispering, her kisses, her gentle urging.  She had clout from behind closed doors and could read a bill like the best of them. Her father had taught her well, and peeking into senate sessions taught her more than she’d ever think.

Things seemed perfect until her former would-be husband got involved.  Palpatine was a significantly older Republican senator from Arizona, whose approval rating was shockingly high for someone so conniving.  Anakin’s one fault, if Rey could be blunt, was his indiscriminate trust and naivety.

Anakin wanted more.  He wanted to be a senator; he tried to get out from Obi-Wan’s thumb and become his equal.  Palpatine offered all of those prospects on a silver platter, despite everyone’s warnings.

Palpatine had other plans for his protege, turning Anakin into a martyr with a quick and lethal stroke in 1963.  November 22 had been like any other day on the campaign trail. Padme had recently found out she was pregnant, only four months along and still getting sick every thirty minutes.  She had stayed home in Boston.

That had been the thing to save her.  

Anakin was a man for the public, always insisting on being in full view and tangible to voters.  Palpatine had told him to do so. Ahsoka Tano, a spry and young girl that had immigrated from Egypt to take a crack at college, had told him she had a bad feeling about the openness that sitting in an open motorcade.

Anakin listened to Ahsoka more often than not.  The girl was sharp and calculating, perfect for working on such a fast-paced campaign that was beating the odds.  Anakin and Ahsoka were attached at the hip usually, giving her papers to read and tips for succeeding in her political conquest one day.

He saw so much in her, respected her deeply.

That’s why the marriage pact happened, after a long conversation in a hotel bar in Philadelphia.  They were both drunk off their asses, only finding out about Padme’s pregnancy a few days before.

_“Is it bad to already be worried?”_

_Anakin swirls the brandy around his glass, Ahsoka’s vision swimming behind her horn-rimmed glasses.  She pushes them up her nose, “They’re your children. It would be odd not to be.”_

_Ahsoka didn’t consider herself maternal by any means but she knows enough about the human heart to understand his anxiety about his legacy._

_“God, I feel bad for the poor sap that marries into this family.  Too much responsibility.”_

_Cynicism is his love language when drunk and while she wants to disagree, she sips from the vodka on the rocks with a tenderness uncharacteristic of his gulping as if he were a fish looking for lifesaving water.  “I’m sure you’ll find someone of equal status that’s prepared for it.”_

_“Or someone I trust.”_

_There’s a long pause in the words before he drains the glass and slams it back on the table.  Wiping his mouth, “You plan on having children?”_

_Her answer is automatic, “Maybe someday.”_

_The idea churns between them before finally being spoken aloud, “Huh.  Hear me out here.”_

Just like that, with a flourish of a fountain pen, Anakin’s legacy was taken care of in the form of a hollow promise from Ahsoka.  The safeguard was in case Anakin couldn’t do his matchmaking.

The bullet through his head ended the prospect for the matchmaking by his design.  The conspiracies around it are fuzzy, given that Rey didn’t want to deep dive that far in case her computer was tapped.  The official report was a lone, psychotic gunman who was never caught after all this time.

The entire thing reeks Palpatine, unaffected by the death of his pupil and setting his focus ahead on destroying the Democratic party.

As for Padme, she carried her pregnancy to term.  Rey knew nothing else except for the gravestone in the plot on the Organa-Skywalker estate grounds.  Her eyes had been too blurry, heart too broken for a woman she’d never know, to read what had killed her.

Rey doesn’t want to know what her potential fate could be in this big chess game.  

\-----------

With the name of Organa-Solo, just a beat off from the Organa-Skywalker that Leia had, it was apparent that Ben had some knowledge of their predetermined merging of dynasties.  Only Rey is a nobody, uncaring on the subject of dabbling in politics. Even with Ahsoka, her adoptive mother, being a senator and all. Ahsoka was wise enough to keep her out of all of the mess and Rey had gone to university in Virginia where she could avoid the prying eyes of Vermont.  Most of the media only knew of her existence and name from Ahsoka’s announcement of her adoption and one creep shot from a nosy student in her Virginia Tech dorm hall.

Words snap Rey from dreaming of the past, “Rey, why don’t you go find my son so you two can open your gifts.”  

Much to Rey’s delight, the mix of guests had ignored their mutual request for a monetary donation to Hope for The Warriors instead of gifts.  The act stings like a slap, having to receive gifts for a wedding neither of them wants. Rey doesn’t want a Kitchenaid off the registry they were forced to make at stupid William & Sonoma.  

Bitter thoughts spin like the last cycle on a load of laundry as she gets up from the table.  

The white dress falls gracefully around her frame.  It’s the only thing she’s worn that’s sort of in her realm of style.  Flowy and reeking _music festival,_ the neckline dips scandalously between her breasts while the sash cinches in the skirt.  The overall look resembles a kimono, but Rey would never liken the exposure of her legs through a slit to the traditional attire.  It’s still in step with portraying a small amount of virginal modesty that fits any blushing bride of political status by proxy.

The dress had been a battle of its own, lasting a total of four days and three hung-up phone calls on Rey’s end.  Leia originally wanted her in some form-fitting ivory monstrosity that made her want to throw the mirror out the window and call it a day.  It’s not like Rey _hates_ her body.  Plenty of people take second glances at her, but she just wanted one idea that was hers.  

There’s a sneaking suspicion that Ben aided in the push for Rey’s ideal dress, given that he stopped speaking at the sight of it when he walked into the bedroom to show his mother a CNN article of recent fuckery in the political landscape they operate in.

The entire notion makes her want to retch.

Something else takes the vomit inducing cake very quickly, in the form of a platinum-haired girl with visible veneers and a fake smile.  Her short stature makes Rey bristle with envy; she’d probably look like a dream next to Ben’s towering 6’6 frame.

She’s not jealous.  She doesn’t give a shit about him or how huge he is.

The snake speaks, “Rey?  I just wanted to say congratulations on your nuptials.”

_You and the rest of the world._

She collects her reaction to be a cold bitch into a little container like trapping Tinkerbell.  “Thank you so much.” How does she keep her voice so even? She can’t even explain her talent to make herself palatable for public feasting.

Maybe she’s not as flawless as she believes, given the sideways stare from the woman in front of her.  The topic is bypassed with a raise of a sleek white iPhone. “I was wondering if we could take a selfie?”

Who the fuck is this girl?  Why is Rey a dream selfie pick?  Like some character at Disney World that people line up to see and harass?

Rey is a nobody, nothing.  She’ll never be anything, even if she’s attached to holy names and faces.

The coldness seeps in like a trickling faucet, building up as she stares at the girl who noticeably falters.  “I have to go find my fiancee. Excuse me.” Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she whips around to stalk across the navy blue and bright gold carpet and wood lacquer like a caged Jaguar looking for something to kill with razor teeth.

How dare anyone come up to her?  

How dare they ask for a stupid selfie?

Her Valentino heels click, dress delicately billowing behind her in response to her quick gait.  She finally exhales with a shake in her shoulders when she gets out of the vicinity of the co-ed wedding shower underworld they were both experiencing, or supposed to be.  Ben can’t abandon her; Rey is usually so independent and brazen unless it came to functions where they have to be engaged at, madly in love to top it off. The world is watching them since Leia is on the world stage, vying to cinch the Democratic nomination for the presidential race with gnashing teeth.

Come to think of it, eyes blinking to bring her back to the task at hand, Han has been missing for the same amount of time that Ben has been.  They had both exited the small ballroom within five minutes of an obvious conversation with each other. Han is the only Solo she can wholeheartedly tolerate, his ability to wisecrack in a surefire way to make her feel better in comparison to Ben’s quiet indifference that makes her think he unquestionably loathes her.  

Rey wouldn’t blame him if he hates her, given that she can’t stand him for more than two hours at a time.

Her fist punches the elevator button, eyes glancing around at the vibrant red and gold colonial style that surrounds her.  Taking in the molding along the ceiling and tile beneath the ornate and out of place Persian rugs beneath her torture heels, the door opens to an elevator detailed in more luxurious gold molding around the mirrors.

She turns her back to the glass as she pushes the fifth-floor button; she wants to stop by her room before she sleuths out her betrothed.  There is no reason to be in the tranquility of her suite except to breathe and rifle through her thoughts for a minuscule amount of clear-headedness.  The collection process begins as she swipes her keycard, not lingering on the transfer of clammy anger-induced sweat onto the metal knob. Nor the racing heart rate that her body is struggling to reign in while she steps into her room and letting the door click shut behind her.

Ben dealt with their room arrangements as he usually does, having assumed correctly that she’d be uncomfortable staying at the Organa apartment while Leia and Han occupy it for the wedding events in Boston. Typically, the flat is empty, since most of the family stays on the campaign trail or at the other estate. The quiet quarters has allotted her a bed to sleep in and a kitchen to prance around in just her panties.

Even if she has such an opulent roof over her head, with more than seven thousand square feet, she’s never felt so alone.

She doesn’t know where she’s going to sleep in two weeks when everything is official to the press.  Technically, she’s already approaching the title of Ben’s wife at an aggressive rate in comparison to the wedding.  They’re going to shack up at a courthouse in three days to abate any threats of cold feet that can have the outcome of screaming while running down the aisle.

Rey is mulling over the prospect of renting her own home for the coming year when she’s in Boston.  Though if Leia gets her nomination, they’ll be bouncing all around the country and a rental would be a waste of money.  Rey wants to pay for her own residence under her terms, not under Ben’s careful hawk watch on things like financial matters.

Just because he used to be a financial lawyer doesn’t mean shit for his economic or investment prowess.  Though it does say that she’s never seen him in the same suit twice, the personal trainer that he occasionally references, the cars, the way he just tossed a weighty black card at her the first time they met.

_“Should cover your expenses.  No worries.”_

No introduction or handshake, only a reassurance that she sees as utterly hollow now.

The reassurance was breezily uttered as if he wasn’t giving her the potential to drop a million in a single minute if she so chose.  Is this marriage? Constant care from someone that you can barely tolerate?

Rey would never know, it’s only been her and Ahsoka with the occasional and quiet male suitor that ducked out while Rey finished her cornflakes.

She begins to fix the peachy nude lipstick in the mirror to ease off the point of stress that causes her chest to constrict and shaky fingers.  The texture of the bullet is chalky on top of her usually supple lips and she needs to slather on gobs of chapstick stat. Her phone is on the charger since she hadn’t been allowed to bring it to her own wedding shower; she picks it up to peruse what she’s missed in three hours.

There are so many notifications, too many emails and texts of well-wishings from those who couldn’t attend or weren’t invited.  Rey doesn’t know most of them and her breathing becomes shallow again.  She quickly distracts herself with the sparse message thread she knows like the back of her hand.

Ben and Rey don’t talk that much over text, more through Poe Dameron and his silver tongue.  Poe is more approachable for her, slipping in gentle reminders in comparison to Ben’s cut and dry deliveries of information.The last message sent allows her heartbeat a flutter in the controlled chaos of her chest.

**\- Ben | Friday, 4:23 PM -**

_You left your wallet in my mother's car, so I put it in your room.  Also, you should be more careful about the amount of cash you carry, Boston can be scary._

The clinical suggestions put her over the edge that day and left her unable to reply.  Sometimes Rey gets so angry that she trembles, that she wants to beat her knuckles against a punching bag until bones break.  Ben hasn’t seen her that furious, most of her reactions to the marriage and the contract behind a door in a clinical law office.  Choice words about selfishness had been shrieked in front of her mother and a poised Leia Organa, Rey’s face morphing to puce and body erupting in a volcano of screeches.  Rey recalls even picking up a potted fern to throw it at the glass windows of the conference room before Ahsoka stopped her and clutched Rey to her chest to never let go. It was eerily similar to when Rey repeatedly woke up at sixteen, frightened to the point of violence at the creak of old floorboards.  Like then, her body vibrated with sobs once she realized there was no way out of this deal with the devil.

She takes a moment to contemplate sending a text, opting for her fingers to fly across the phone keyboard.

**\- Rey | Sunday, 2:36 PM -**

_where are you?  please don’t make me search this hotel in these heels_

The balls of her feet are radiating soreness that had been at bay while sitting.  Now it's fresh and nagging, the tapping of her sole making the pain linger in her hindbrain.  She’s smoothing out the creamy white linen of her dress while waiting for his text back.

After three minutes of radio silence, given that he’s usually so prompt, her frustration hits its peak.  Leia sent her to retrieve him and Ben makes carrying out the order unbearable. She brings her phone with her and takes one last look in the mirror, surveying the natural brunette waves that swish along the tops of her shoulders.  She feels the most comfortable in her skin in this outfit, a blessing since the stuffy skirts and dresses she is obligated to sport at family functions make her feel like a fraud. Why wasn’t Rey allowed a pantsuit once in a while?  Would it kill the image?

There’s still a tiny part that Rey knows that she will never be her true self, certainly not while she glides out of her suite into the judgment of any eyes that befall her in the hallway.  The double takes are the hardest thing to stomach, the loud whispering a runner up. The room door closes behind her and she makes sure she has her keycard tucked back in the waistband of her thong.  Also virginal white and lacy, it's a wonder that she can even tolerate the card sojourning there like a lover.

She keeps her head down while cream polished nails open an extraordinarily personal and extensive message thread as she walks to the elevator.

**\- Ahsoka | Sunday, 9:14 AM -**

_try to make the best out of today and remember i love you to the moon and back_

Along with a promise to call Rey tonight for their weekly chat, the message inspires a stir of potent woe in her chest that makes her throat dry like the falling orange and red leaves on Beacon street.   Rey missed the text to argue with the fourth stylist that Leia has hired to try to rein her in on the subject of taking off the small star pendant that she had worn since the day she went home with Ahsoka, only ten years before.   

Perhaps it was uncivil to make the girl cry and quit on the spot, but Rey chews through Leia’s staff quicker than a roll of Hubba Bubba gum.  

Her fingers press the up button and the doors take thirty seconds to open to an empty elevator.  She enters, and before she can think it through, her digits push the button for the rooftop. If Ben and Han are gone, it means the potential of a cigarette break is the culprit.  The only semblance of outdoor space is the rooftop and Ben doesn’t seem like the type to completely break the rules of the expensive hotel rooms they both have.

Ben has his own home in Boston, so she can’t fathom why he’s staying here tonight instead of the peace of his personal space.  Something else she doesn’t understand is the uptick of smoking, given that she hadn’t seen a cigarette in his mouth until last month.

Plenty happened last month; she recalls a yelling match with his mother that she couldn’t make out through her ear pressed up against the door.  It’s not good to snoop but she has a right to understand why he slammed the door so hard that the house would have shaken or that he almost backed into moving traffic in his haste to leave the apartment.

Mysterious reactions and feelings follow him; it’s so frustrating that Rey can never truly ascertain what happens in his head.  Ben works in logical reasoning like her, or she assumes he does. She craves the ability to worm her way into his cerebrum, to ask him about all of this and his feelings about marrying her based on an archaic deal made between her adoptive mother and his grandfather.  Or maybe what it’s like to have birth parents that have looked out for him since conception.

None of these questions come to her mind when the doors slide open and she’s staring straight at the two men she’s been seeking, cigarettes raising to their lips in spooky synchronicity as they stare out onto Boston.  Ben’s leaning against the large Lenox sign; charcoal suit jacket carefully draped over a chair to keep it from getting soiled. Han seems to care less about potential dirt and more about the Camel that rests between his fingers.  At least they have different cigarette tastes, a Marlboro menthol in between Ben’s lips.

She’s proclaiming her annoyance as she practically limps towards them, “I texted you.” The elevator slides closed behind her as smoke drifts from Ben’s nostrils while he watches her.  She studies him also, noticing how the crisp white dress shirt seems to cling to his chest and biceps tighter than usual.  Why does he look bigger every time she sees him?  Rey envies him for his body, carefully crafted to make her legs press together when he insists on lifting a suitcase into the trunk of the Porsche Cayenne she’s been loaned.  

If Ben and Rey weren’t contractually indebted to each other, she’d find him particularly delicious.  He’s a type she never assumed she’d like, all raven hair and dark eyes with an enormous stature and sharp features.

Too bad his personality grates on her.  He’s nodding towards the jacket across the chair, “Phone is in my pocket.”  Maybe it's the situation or the day or the stars being misaligned but this rubs her wrong.

“Okay, we need to go.”  She’s looking at the half-burned cigarette between his fingers and she knows the smell of carcinogens will transfer from his digits to her skin; they’ll both stink like an ashtray.

His face is stoic still, even as he holds the cigarette to his lips. “You can go ahead.  I need to finish this.”

Boiling irrationality seeps into her brain and clouds it with steam.  “No, right now.” Her tone is snappy and could care less about Ben Organa-Solo’s feelings.  If he even has emotions, his face still reflecting nothing like a dilapidated robot. His knuckles are tensing to white and back to flesh-colored and she knows he’s got enough money to toss a cigarette.

“What’s going on down there, Rey?”  Han speaks now, a futile effort to get her to soothe the fiery irritation in her blood.  The greying man is studying her with compassion she’s never known before this. He always looks at her like that, a safe harbor in these turbulent seas.  He’s opposite of his son, uncaring about appearances (evident by the mismatched orange and ghastly green socks and ill-fitting suit jacket). Though they are so similar, Ben’s thick head of hair is an indication of certain paternity.

She bites the bait but doesn’t let Han rip her out of the water.  “The usual political bullshit. Let's go, Ben.” Persisting her harassment is the only reasonable option.

Ben is silent, cigarette drawn between his lips again before a large plume of smoke leaves his mouth.  His noiselessness makes her want to throw the nearby chair somewhere so some amount of damage can be done; she’s hit her limit of idiots today.  Although Ben is a lawyer and esteemed graduate of two Ivy Leagues, he’s dense on how to deal with her blazing and bra-burning attitude.

Rey doesn’t need this from him.  

She snaps, “You can explain to your mother why you ignored me for nicotine.”  The threat comes from deep in her gut, contained in a trauma box without a key that allows nothing to chip at it.  Something about cigarettes bothers her and she’s never been able to put her thumb on it though she can identify the cigarette burn on her inner bicep, the giver unknown.

There’s a lump growing in her throat and she’s crashing into a rough patch of triggered frustration.

Ben seems to ascertain the tectonic shift and he’s stiffening up to look to his father.  Han avoids his eyes and before she can do something she regrets, she turns her back to Ben and begins to walk away.  His funeral if he wants to snub Leia Organa, he should know the consequences even better than she does. “Rey.” His hand grabs the back of her arm and unexpected touch is always a surefire way to shove her past the point of no return.  

“Fuck off, Ben.”  Like the crack of a whip, he recoils from her and she has the sense to stop and look back.

The air is now stuffy despite the freedom of the outdoors, pushing down on their standoff.  “I’m going to head in.” Leave it to Han to exit out of a situation he could referee, shuffling past her and slamming the elevator button like it’s brandy in an IV.

Once the doors glide open and shut, Ben speaks in a low and very measured tone, “Excuse me?”

Rey knows he heard her exact words, but her chin turns up in confidence.  “Fuck off. It’s not like I want to be here.” She says it every time she sees him, like a broken record.  She’s the sacrificial lamb by half-force, only going along with this shit because she loves Ahsoka and wants her to have a cabinet seat with Leia’s blessing.  

More can get done with Ahsoka being a cabinet member.

He rumbles a laugh, blood-chilling.  “You think I want to be here too?”

The words stop her short and give him the clearance to continue, “I’d rather have sixteen teeth pulled than marry you.”

Her cheeks flame as if she’s been slapped.  Before she can think, “I can arrange that. Or my fist can.  Take your pick.” Forcibly setting her shoulders, Ben’s imposing all by accounts but she’s ready verbally upper cut him in the throat.

“I’ve never been known to babysit.  Especially brats like you.” His Boston cadence jumps out on the insult, watered down in comparison to his father and mother.  It makes him sound like the type of yuppie assholes she dated in college who ate pussy as if it were Brussel sprouts.

She snorts, “When would anyone let you around their child?  You’d probably feast on its bones, crypt keeper.”

Without missing a beat, “Okay, miss ‘I flinch at baby cries.’  Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I sleep fine knowing that I don’t have to sleep with you.”

Ben laughs, throwing the cigarette away from himself and expertly into the ashtray.  Then he walks past her, keeping his distance as he slams the elevator button. “Come on, princess.”  He means to be patronizing, evident in the way his brow quirks or his slam on the elevator button. Rey doesn’t move, tempting a dragon.

The beast comes out in the form of him walking back towards her and forcibly grabbing her hand.  Ben’s strong, too imposing for her taste right now and all built up defenses and anger crumble in a split second.

She can’t help her flinch or the small yelp that leaves her throat, body locking up in response to the past.  Then tears well up and her throat closes, composure moving to let pressing dread to take its seat.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.  Okay-” His voice is now so soft and she isn’t coherent enough to enjoy it.  She’s only able to rip her arm away from him and cross her arms over her chest. Rey wants to scream in his face or say something particularly nasty.

Instead, she keeps her tone unnaturally even, “You won’t touch me again.  This is your last warning.”

The learned defense has her unbending, staring up at him with squared shoulders and grinding teeth.  Tears blur the periphery of her vision, but she’s committed to staying strong in his presence. This registers so minutely across his features, lips parting before he gulps with a visible bob of his Adam’s apple.  Ben looks so young suddenly as if ten years has melted off his thirty-four and converted him to a fresh college graduate.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.  I apologize, Rey-”

“I don’t want an apology from you, that’s the last thing I desire to hear.  Can we leave now?” She can’t bite out that part while looking him in the eye, opting to trace the edges of the light blue tie that conveniently matches the ceiling of the venue they need to crawl back to.

Her fingers move to twist her engagement ring.  Back and forth, her brain is counting each rub to distract from wanting to rip his fucking eyes out.  “Rey.”

“Ben.”

They can do this at the expense of his life.

“Look at me.”

“Nope.”  She wanders past him and into the open elevator, fixing the skirt of her dress to make sure everything is still in place.  What would Leia do if her little dolls weren’t picture perfect?

“Please?”  The door closes when he stands next to her, staring straight into the reflection at her.

Rey doesn’t break, “Why would I want to?  I’m such a fucking princess, so I don’t have to.”

“It’s a nickname, okay-”

“Fuck you, Ben.  Being called princess by you is the equivalent of me calling you a money-hungry shark who probably has no morals like the rest of your family.”  

Maybe that’s too much to say and she wholeheartedly regrets it as it leaves her mouth.  The silence makes her temperature plunge into polar. Times like these make her feel immature with her twenty-five-year-old rage in comparison to his thirty-four-year-old processing of it.

As piercing as a gunshot, “Whether you like it or not, you’re marrying into this.  So if we’re such fucking sharks, then I’m sorry that you have to be chum.”

Why does he take her insult so graciously?  Rey turns to look at him, at the set of his jaw and how it twitches with held back words.  They have to pretend to care about each other for a few more hours and this isn’t a good way to get that going.

“Ben, I’m sorry.”

“Are you?  Because last time I recall, I’m a marine animal with no morals.  Why would you possibly give a shit about anything but yourself?”

That stings but she deserves it.  She steps closer and sets her hand on Ben's shoulder, feeling it shift beneath her grip.  “I am. I mean it.”

“You have no clue the amount of-”

The doors open and she looks desperately for the rest of his words.  The amount of what? His hand grabs hers while the notion of hearing his confession evaporates like steam.

The conversation is done.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Contrary to popular belief, Ben can’t hate someone who doesn’t have a choice in the situation.

He wants to believe he’s wise beyond his years, that he knows so much more than Rey and can explain away the absolute fuckery they find themselves in.  But he can’t, and there’s no conceivable way he can describe something that he never imagined would happen in his lifetime.

So, yeah, he’s fucking livid.  Anakin Skywalker personally slapped him in the face when he made the pact with Ahsoka Tano, and Bail Organa making his mother aware of it is also another cherry on top of the **fuck you** sundae.

Ben has known about the contracted marriage since he was old enough to understand the concept of such a thing.  His example of marital life, dysfunctional and busy parents that left him alone to his own devices, isn’t the healthiest thing to have ingrained into his brain.  Sometimes he wants to scoff at them when they wonder aloud why he’s clinically bipolar, genetics playing a part and learning from age five onwards that violent and emotional outbursts got him the attention he truly required.  

Right now, if he weren’t holding so tightly onto Rey’s hand, he would be punching a mirror until his knuckles leak blood.  He’s a victim too, not entirely the one to blame for everything wrong. While his mother is garbage for this act, he’ll never tolerate insults thrown her way.  Ben doesn’t want to get married, even now that he’s rapidly approaching such a relationship with such an annoying girl. The solitary way he lives is better for him and his temperament and he can’t wait until his mother leaves him alone after she gets her presidency.  

This wedding shower is favoring the task of making their rivals eat their words, to Leia’s enjoyment.  Everyone from Vas Vaspar to Jakker-Sun had come, each notable figure sitting in the ballroom of one hundred individuals like they are the most special of all.  

If the Illuminati is real, this is the weekly meeting for honorary members.

Perhaps they believe they’re more special than his (admittedly) beautiful bride.  He may not understand Rey, may tiptoe around her, but every bone in his body can’t deny that she’s gorgeous for all intents and purposes.  Even though she wishes he would drop dead in a ditch.

They walk back into the ballroom together, her hand clammy in his and her gait a little slower.  Her feet hurt and her mind is somewhere else. He can’t blame her for either state and his mother’s eyes are fixating on them like a hawk on mice.

Before the inevitable swoop, he’s pulling Rey into the group he’s been gathering with to avoid other vultures in the ballroom.  Poe, Kaydel, and Paige are clustered together, own drinks in their hands.

“Hello, happy couple.”  Poe’s words make Ben bristle up and Rey’s letting go of his hand to stand next to Paige.  She would do so but he can’t admit the tiny sting. He focuses on Poe and Kaydel. They’re practically his siblings; well as close as they could get to siblings, his mother never actually adopted them.  They only reaped the benefits of the Organa-Skywalker cloak and kept their respective ideologies and names.  Also, they got the beautiful gift of anonymity.

“How are you doing, big guy?”  Kaydel is letting the red wine swish around her glass, staining the edges of her mouth.  The big brother inside of him wants to lick his thumb and scrub it away but he’s a thirty-four-year-old man and his fiancee is right next to him.  Though she’s absorbed in a whisper conversation with Paige, the action wouldn’t look right to outsiders. He gestures to the corners of his mouth and she gets the message, reaching for a napkin at the table they were all stationed initially.  That is until his mother pulled Rey away to meet and schmooze with the world’s elite.

How is he?  It’s such a loaded question and his eyes focus on the carpeting beneath his Saint Laurent Derbys.  “I’m peachy.” He can’t help the grind of his teeth and Poe snorts.

“For sure.  You’re almost done here and afterward, we can binge drink like college kids.  Doesn’t that sound fun?” That sounds like a hangover that morphs him into an asshole tomorrow.  He’s already the bad guy and succumbing even further into the stereotype wouldn’t be shocking.

His lawyer-bred logical reasoning wins the tug of war, brain conjuring up the image of upchucking like a sorry loser on his morning run.  “I’ll pass. Ask Rey though.” Usually, he’d never suggest that alcohol solves problems but she needs to loosen up. Ben can deal with everything else.

Poe looks past him to Rey and nods to himself.  Ben doesn’t even glance back, knowing that jumping in on a Rey/Paige conversation is still a cardinal sin like stepping into a Rose/Rey discussion. You just didn’t do that unless you’re Poe Dameron and can easily worm your way into things with a charming smile.  Rey grins when she sees Poe and Ben’s combusting a little inside at the thought that his mother’s campaign manager gets more warmth than him.

Ugly envy rears its head and he’s smashing it down as suddenly as it comes.  Poe makes her smile while he makes her viscerally angry. What a rich situation to be in.

If Rey and Ben were an average couple, Ben would reenact the things he only shamefully conjures in his dreams: shoving her up against a wall and letting his fingers push under her dress to fuck her until she comes with his name on her pretty glossed lips.   _Ben,_ **_please_ ** _let me-_

“I think that we need to do something else.”  Kaydel’s voice pulls him from his fantasies like a sickle slicing up his spine.  Her wine is gone and her head is visibly swimming, but he’s still willing to take suggestions that aren’t destroying something in his hotel room or screaming into the night.  

She doesn’t hesitate, “Let's get you laid.”

Can she read his mind?  The suggestion is so bad that he’s laughing, an edge of anxiety in his timbre that reflects the realization that he hasn’t fucked anyone in a solid eight months.  Bazine had been the last regular conquest until she became a fast conflict of interest for his mother, given that she jumped on Hux’s campaign quicker than she sunk onto his dick.  The lay hadn’t been anything too spectacular or giving her up would’ve been a feat of nature. Ben doesn’t detach his claims he makes on people, can’t get rid of the protective need he feels with everyone that matters to him.

Rey’s level on his possessive totem pole is exceptionally complicated because she’s not going to be his wife.  On paper, yes, but in spirit, she isn’t his. “I’ll pass. I have work to do tonight.” Work. A big fat lie since he’s not allowed to practice law again until his mother wins the election.  He doesn’t know what he’s doing at that point if he’s candid with himself.

Kaydel knows this is false, but unlike Poe, she never presses too hard.  She pats him on the shoulder and flashes a winning smile, “I need more wine and you need whiskey.”  Drinking isn’t a good idea when he’s supposedly going to have to hold his composure in five minutes. Opening gifts that he doesn’t want or need is already hard enough.  He shakes his head, despite wanting another whiskey on the rocks; the entire bottle would be ideal.

A laugh passes from Rey at Poe and he wants to storm out; intends to tell his mother to set her up with Dameron instead, someone Rey tolerates more.  He takes a deep breath instead, hand crawling in his pocket for another cigarette. Maybe, just maybe, he could wander away again and never be found.  “Ben.” He looks up because it’s not Kaydel saying it. His mother gazes up at him and he's never been sure where he got his height from. She's miniature next to his imposing stature.

Leia’s face is grave and she's holding her cell phone.  Ben knew the conversation’s subject before she can speak.  He had seen the tweet, after all, the reason for his cigarette break.

 **ArmitageHux** : _Not shocked to see Organa wasting donation money on her son’s wedding and using their bridal shower as a collection for campaign funding.  What a shame._

Usually, Ben would be angry with his mother for bringing this up and Poe Dameron would pull them into an office to devise a response.  This is all fallacy, Hux’s claims so far from true.

Hux used to stretch the truth every which way in undergrad.  This stunt is just his typical M.O., right after pouting at women until they gave in and fucked him out of pity.  Hux is a pity fuck, based on the fact that he doesn’t believe most humans should have rights.

Ben is using his trust fund for every inch of this horrible shower, every little flower at the wedding ceremony, every drink poured from the open bars at all the events, the security that pre-screened all the guests before the ceremony and will still be crawling along the perimeters.  The sad thing is that none of the millions he’s spending will even make a dent in the trust fund that he refuses to touch except to buy property.

“Don’t respond.  We’re supposed to be happy right now.”  He settles a heavy emphasis on the “supposed” part since he’s ready to storm out and lay under the covers until night passes and he can go home and do the same thing.

Leia opens her mouth and closes it, repeating the action more times than he wishes to count.  He shouldn’t have to be involved with fixing his mother’s messes but the good son inside of him wants her to be happy.  Ben wants everyone to be content.

Maybe that led to his deep unhappiness.  His old therapist would get a kick out of that.

”I suppose you two saw the tweets.”  Poe is now in their bubble, holding his phone with a crease of his brow and the telling appearance of sweat beading on the back of his neck.  The selfish and testosterone-fueled pulse inside of Ben quickens at the sight of Poe being nervous.

 _You should be_.

Ben does something tortuous to make the feelings go away, ”Rey and I will go open gifts.”  It's less agony than the conversation his mother wants to have at this current moment. Before there's a protest from either party, he walks away to clear his throat behind Rey.  He’s not looking to be nice.

She looks back at him, and her wandering eyes hurt him down to his core.  People are watching their every move and Ben can't cope with very much right now.  ”We’re opening gifts now so I can leave as soon as possible.”

Her face looks hurt for a flash before she nods.  He outstretches his hand to her, a beck and call to join him; to make this easy.

Rey does what's wise, her smaller fingers slotting astride his own.  Sometimes he closes his eyes and pretends this is all real.

Not for long though.

“Ben.”

His name is hushed from her lips, like a shameful prayer.  What now? Does she want him to stick his head in an oven?

He has to try to be nice.  Looking down at her, he struggles to relax his shoulders and look less imposing.  Happily in love isn’t looming over your familiar, though it’s so easy to do with the near foot difference in their height.  Her eyes are a little shiny, or its the bounce of the pendant lights draped in the dome above them. The venue is a dream for anyone; too bad it’s a walking nightmare.

“The tweet.”

Who told her about that already?  Rey is chosen oblivious. God help them all if she starts weighing in without much context, given that no one has told her about the previous friendship between Ben and Hux.

It’s a fact so long in the past that it shouldn’t even matter.  “It’s okay. That’s not why I’m leaving.”

_I’m leaving because I hate it here._

She’s twitching with a particular quality now that he takes a long look at her, Ben wanting to hold her in his arms to keep her from falling apart.  No such thing is feasible in their relationship. “I promise you that it’s not true. This is all out of pocket.”

“Do you promise?”

He doesn’t hesitate, “I swear.  Don’t worry about it.”

He wishes he could reassure more; anything to stop the inevitable downcast of her features like a sun seeing a storm brewing.

When Ben is the rain, it’s impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been in development since July and i'm so ready to take you on this ride.
> 
> thoughts and feelings r welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> [work title and chapter title inspired by “sweatpants” by childish gambino](https://bit.ly/2v7Lm1s)
> 
> **the important things ******  
> [lenox hotel](https://bit.ly/2FKMSei)  
> [dome room at the lenox bb](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwj24MiQpKrhAhVri1QKHTyaDXAQjRx6BAgBEAU&url=%2Furl%3Fsa%3Di%26source%3Dimages%26cd%3D%26ved%3D%26url%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fwww.oyster.com%252Fboston%252Fhotels%252Flenox-hotel%252Fphotos%252Fdome-room--v7283268%252F%26psig%3DAOvVaw1QAw0sxnoj0qQfcTWkyEhX%26ust%3D1554049622591061&psig=AOvVaw1QAw0sxnoj0qQfcTWkyEhX&ust=1554049622591061)  
> [rey’s dress](https://bit.ly/2T7Ptm2)  
> rey’s torture heels  
> [ben’s outfit](https://bit.ly/2JVgF8a)  
> [rey’s huge ass engagement ring](https://bit.ly/2YBBx7O)  
> [bio of JFK in case u were wondering](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_F._Kennedy)


	2. and i'm born rich, life ain't fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't mean to say it aloud but it wisps into the air regardless, “You could have anyone you want.”
> 
> “I could. I don't want to.”
> 
> What an odd way to live. Rey’s been depending deeply on a vibrator to push her through the days, worried that if she screws some random in a bar that she’ll end up on CNN. That would ruin a lot of things. 
> 
> **“What do you want?”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **tags**  
>  blood  
> mention of death  
> awkward ben solo with a garter  
> rey cries a lot  
> yeah this chapter is a lot

Rey tells herself she’s not going to cry.

Sometimes, when she was small, she held her breath so she couldn’t scream or blubber with sobs.  No one likes a child who shrieks and screeches like a cat in heat, especially an orphan with no caring keeper.  Crying isn’t something she does at the drop of a hat unless it’s in private.

Given her emotional state these past two weeks, no one can blame her for finally falling apart over something as stupid as a wedding veil brushing against her shoulder blades especially when the pressure had been ramping up to a fever pitch that leaves her with feather-ruffling comments and persistently trembling hands. Touch is becoming worse to experience in times of crisis like these.  Instead of the regular order of operations of soothing herself off the ledge, she crawls out of her skin and feels as if nothing is real.

The sobbing allows her to excuse herself, even as the poor makeup artist tries to pull her back to make sure the delicate chocolate brown eyeliner remains intact.  This wedding is on a tight ship of a schedule, and Rey is single-handedly ruining it. Perhaps it could prove her point about forcing a marriage between two grown adults.

Ben isn’t fighting back, so Rey has to with gnashing teeth.  Rebellion comes in the form of storming out of her suite, white satin robe thrown over her shoulders with shapewear and sweats beneath it.  Leia had advised for the shapewear to go on as soon as her makeup was done and it makes her feel as if she’s clawing for breath near her hidden spot by some leafy palm plant near Ben’s quarantine in the estate.  The Organa-Skywalker/Solo conglomerate works in old traditions, like arranged marriage and separating the bride and groom before the ceremony. Another delightful example is the cream garter currently slid on her bare thigh beneath her oxblood joggers

None of that is needed for this hellish proposition, but it’s the thick icing on the six-tier cake they were supposedly expecting later.

Her lungs couldn’t expand, mind racing faster and faster as she went through the motions of hair and makeup, got offered champagne from bridesmaids she didn’t even know or like and tried to text Ahsoka with no response.

Rey feels so alone right at this second, Rose being the exception to the sad feelings; though she’s in and out of the entire ritualistic process, uncharacteristic for a maid of honor.  Leia is using the plucky girl in the same vein of Zeus utilizing Hermes; to pass messages to Rey’s version of Hades and the hellhounds that are his groomsmen.  They weren’t that bad, Poe being a part of the motley crew and even his best man. Mitaka didn’t talk to her, Caedus smells like marijuana and played with Ben in a college band named Knights of Ren.  Cardinal is still the mysterious teaching assistant he had at Harvard that stares at her like she’s exuding “fuck me” pheromones.

Though she supposes her bridesmaids aren’t anything to write home about.  Rey didn’t (and still doesn’t) have enough friends to flesh out a small bridal party but Leia Organa made do like she always seems to.  Mysha acts as if being a third cousin to the Naberrie branch of the family makes her ultimately godlike while Nadea can’t stop filing her nails or snapping her gum for one fragment of a second.  Not to mention Tynnra and the way she sneers at anything like its a dead fish.

Everything feels so horribly wrong.  There’s no part of her personality in this wedding, even down to the all satin Elie Saab that hung in her bridal suite and has eyes that follow her everywhere.  Every cell in her body is screaming for her to run for it, disappear on an Amtrack and go very far away.

Rey’s brain reminds her of the simple fact that she’s already married to Ben, has been so for a week now and this is all a sick charade.  Showing off a new and screaming baby is more desirable than this shitshow of three hundred and fifty guests. More pressure sets in and threatens to collapse her weak spine, head hanging between her knees.

Maybe if she tries hard enough, she can blend in with the cream paint and white wainscotting.  Possibly the foliage could conceal her poor and heartbreaking form or how her spine ripples with each struggling breath.

Only a minute to collect herself.  Sixty seconds.

Her eyes are shut, opening periodically to glower at the pale wood floor when she hears the clearing of a throat.  Rey doesn’t want to look up; all she wants is to avoid her responsibilities and get stuck in some limbo. Women don’t dodge their issues and she’s not going to make avoidance a habit — what a way to kill a marriage.

Taking her first deep breath in solid minutes, she screws her head up and lifts her chin.  Her brow creases at the presence of Ben. He’s holding a bag of peanut M&Ms with a glass of whiskey on the rocks in his other fist, looming over her.  He’s wearing sweats and a tank and this is too close to would-be domesticity if they didn’t resent each other.

“Can I sit next to you?”

They are in a hallway, aren’t they?  An empty one but inviting any prying eyes to wander in.  Her voice is hoarse and tongue dry, “Don’t you have to get ready?”

His head cocks and her trembling hands come to push a baby hair from her forehead.  Her brunette locks are twisted into a romantic and intricate updo on the back of her skull, just loose enough for her tastes but held within an inch of its life with hairspray.  While she’s hurrying to lean back against the wall, he’s lowering to sit in front of her with his legs crossed.

The bag of peanut M&Ms slides between them, along with the nearly full glass of whiskey.  She finally gazes at umber irises. “You look pretty.”

Pretty.  It’s their wedding day and she thinks this is the best she’s probably looked her entire life, despite the mess of her face.  Shame about the circumstances. She glances down at the whiskey and chocolate again.

“They’re for you.”

How did Ben Organa assume she likes peanut M&Ms?  Is she truly so transparent that she wears her candy heart on her sleeve?  She feels like an idiot as she says, “Both of them?” The whiskey is more crucial to soothe her bad mood.

Ben nods, and she takes the glass, knocking it back.  Draining half of the firewater, she sets it back down and resists the urge to wipe her mouth.  Then she focuses again on him, delicate hands tearing open the pack of M&Ms. “What are you doing in your suite?”

He’s twiddling his thumbs, so unlike his ordinary and quiet resignation.  “I took a walk. Before that, I was playing pool.”

If there is a scale of unfair, the presence of a pool table in his suite is in the middle of the ladder.  Her mouth chews on the chocolate candy gratefully, sipping more whiskey. “My mom also texted all of the bridal party that you had high-tailed it out of your room.  It’s equivalent to a national state of emergency.”

Leia is a factor she didn’t think about when she left.  Here she is, holed up next to foliage and completely dodging all attempts of someone looking for her.  Until Ben, that is. “Are you gonna turn me in?”

Her tone is hopeful and Ben shakes his head to her relief.  “You need space for a minute. I told her that.”

How perceptive.  She holds out the bag of candy to him and his head shakes along with his tousled brown hair.  It looks just done enough, strands pushed back out of his face and hanging around the middle of his neck.  He cut his hair in the two days she last saw him. “What? Candy gonna ruin your diet?” Rey can’t help her mocking tone and she’s glad he takes it as a joke.  Ben seems to focus on his physique; if the broadness of his torso or the size of his biceps is an indicator. Her eyes trace along the muscle of his upper arms and land on the web of flesh coming off his neck that coasts over his shoulder.

Tracing the carpet with an obscenely large finger, ”I’m not dieting right now.”

So he has before.  Her head cocks, “Why’s that?”  She hopes it's isn’t too intimate to ask but she’s legally married to him and about to be his spouse publicly.  Luckily, he’s bypassing the transgressions of the past week with a shrug.

“I started what’s called a bulk and cut.”  Her head cocks in confusion and he continues, “Eat a lot of food to go up in weight and convert it to muscle.”  

The process sounds complex for some reason or the whiskey on an empty stomach is making her head foggy.  ”But you’re already-”

God, was she about to compliment his physique?  He jumps at the chance, ”Already what?”

She's drunk; she shouldn't even speak.  But she keeps her mouth running despite a total exposure of vulnerability.  ”Tell me what you were gonna say in the elevator and I’ll consider talking.”

His breath is a sigh.  “Then nevermind.”

If she weren't tipsy, she would give a verbal crack.

Ben appears to sense this and takes the glass, draining it and leaving only the ball of ice.  Wanting to suck out every drop of firewater is very tempting for Rey. “How much have you drank so far?”  She’s picturing some ludicrous amount of alcohol flowing in their suite, debauchery painting his day with proof of how much people care about him.

No one cares for Rey.  She’s been mostly independent for as long as she remembers. Of course, Ahsoka was around and played a part in her upbringing, but she had come past her formative years and entered in the years that didn’t matter.  The damage had been done by fifteen.

Ben shakes his head.  “Nothing except for now.  It’s hard to loosen up.” Now that’s revealing for the two of them.  She can only nod, pulling her knees to her chest and gently resting her face against her thighs so only her eyes peek out.  The action helps her compose herself, hoping to get to the point where she can go back and fix up the mess her face must be.

Silence builds a gauzy web between them.

“I have to go.  I’m supposedly getting my suit delivered in about ten minutes, and I can’t miss that.”

She doesn’t want to be alone still, and her eyes flutter shut for a moment.  Usually, she wouldn’t care if Ben left her presence. She is perplexed to the point of frustration while he consistently loathes her.  Mutual respect and openness are new for her.

Rey can’t ask for anything she desires, a lump coming up in her throat.  “Okay.”

Ben hesitates and she gives him a reason to leave, getting shakily to her own feet with the bag of M&Ms.  They’re technically in a castle in upstate New York. She’s not sure which turns to take to get back to her bridal prison, leaving her glancing around like a massive idiot.  “I can walk you back to your suite.”

His offer is tempting and necessary as she takes a little a wavering step in apparently the wrong direction.  “Come on.” Ben starts walking the opposite way and she follows behind him, then next to him when his pace slows.  They’re a few feet apart, odd to the outside eye, and resembling ghosts gliding through a graveyard to their respective plots.  

After all, marriage is death 'til us part.

The impending ceremony and her name being his for the rest of her life are sinking in faster than quicksand, arms crossing over her chest to keep herself whole. Titles are essential to Rey, never quite having one that’s her own. This one, Organa-Solo, is another offender in a line-up. The surname sits astride pain, posing for a canvas displaying the loss of her autonomy for all to see.

Rey needs to eat something when she gets back to her suite, room service to sop up the liquor flipping over in her stomach.  The peanut M&Ms don’t suffice, and no one can judge her for needing to stuff her face with carbs and sniffle. His cell phone ringing breaks the stuffy silence.  He slides it from the pocket of his sweats and answers it in a fluidity that makes her strangely envious — typical lawyer, able to talk and walk like the best of them.

Though his greeting is informal, “Yeah?” This can’t be the first phone call today, suspicion validated by a crease in his brow and shutting his mouth in a tight line.

“She’s fine.”

She wonders if it’s Leia or another unfortunate soul.  “She’ll be back in a minute.” At least he's not specific on where she had run off.  His eyes glance sideways to her as he slows to a stop, prolonging the wait for her when she gets back to the lion’s den.

“You’re putting a lot of pressure on her, and it’s not the ceremony yet.”

Definitely Leia, Rey can make out the voice from here.  “I’m okay.” Meek, and maybe that’s a lie but sometimes speaking the feeling into existence allows it to flood your head.  No such luck, anxiety still rooting in her heart and ceasing its thump.

Ben shakes his head to himself.  “I’m hanging up now.” Before there are protests, he holds the phone away from his ear and ends the call.  Sliding it back into his pocket, the snap of his eyes to her indicates weighty concern.

“You’re shivering again.”

Is it that obvious?  She glances down at her body and confirms his claim, little rocks slamming her nervous system.  

“Can I do anything?”

He shouldn’t touch her and he makes no move to.  Leaving her standing on windless dunes, she’s still shaky but she has some amount of security.  The throat opens like a bloom, “Can you tell my mom to call me?” Like a little kid dragging her blanket behind her, begging for mommy and daddy to save her from the nightmares that cloud behind her eyelids.

Ben stares back at her, his face now a composed mask.  Then he nods, slowly with his jaw rolling beneath his skin.

“Thank you.”  She’s gratefully whispering to him like a sinner in a confessional booth that got a lighter punishment for their admitted penance.  If forgiveness came in such a form as pretty as him, Rey should sip it down like a syrupy drink on a summer day.

Without much preamble, he begins walking again and she follows behind with rapid steps.  His phone is out and his fingers scatter to type across the screen while strolling like a funeral procession, the bridal suite imitating the bottom of a grave.  She slows first as his phone vanishes again.

“Thanks for-”

Ben shakes his head and waves her gratitude away.  “It was the least I could do.” The least. The least is actually to disappear, go away so she doesn’t have to give away her independence with a simple dowry.

They part without another word, Rey turning towards the door and Ben walking down the hall.  He’s set to disappear and she wonders why she cares so much if he vanishes. It isn’t like Ben is entirely on her side, toeing the line like a racer edging forward on a three-hundred meter relay.

Before she can open the door herself, it opens inwards and the worried face of Rose Tico greets her.  Ebony hair is thrown up in similar (but not too alike, given that upstaging the bride is a cardinal sin for Leia Organa) intricate bun. She’s still competing with Rey for being the most good-looking and essential wedding member.  

Before Rose can say a word, Rey is slithering back into the snake pit.  Her other bridesmaids only look on as she picks up hotel binder and plops back down in the makeup chair to begin the process of fixing her smudged face.

Maybe the beautician would be able to fix her splintering heart too.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Ben thought the ceremony would feel like smooth gin and bubbly tonic saturating his taste buds.

Instead, with all three hundred and fifty eyes and their varied speculations upon them, it felt like a hot branding rod forcing its way into his mouth.  He held her hands within his own clammy ones, pulled back her veil so delicately and made sure not to tread on the satin skirt of her ball gown whenever he so much as shifted himself.

Ben claims he’s sometimes too big for his own body, unaware where each limb is.  The garment sealed that notion in stone; the dress is a piece out of a different era, fitting for a 1940’s starlet marrying the love of her life.  However, it’s Rey wearing it so the spellbinding reveal was lost to her obvious discomfort and restricted movement.

They skipped writing their own vows for the sole fact that they have nothing to say to each other but, “I’m so sorry.”  What are you supposed to write to a girl that you’ve known for four months? A girl that hates your guts, who stormed out of the courthouse in a tailored black pantsuit into Rose’s Toyota Camry without even a glance back.

The girl looks so beautiful, sliding into a more rebellious dress for their reception.  The slit up the leg is everything his mother hates but everything he loves, showing off a tanned thigh and calf that strains in navy Louboutins.  Satin had been a bitch to deal with, taking the photos had proved that enough; Ben struggled to preserve the skirt as they moved every which way for a deadly combination of romantic and stuffy wedding portraits that would hang on the foyer wall by the time they both went home for Christmas.

He remembers when the massive and ornate family tree was hung up in the living room at the estate, onlookers at Christmas parties staring wistfully at it, with its lines and branches weaving in every which way.  All the families that make up his legacy, members dying in droves during the twentieth century, reduce down to one name at the bottom.

His name.  

He’s always been the penultimate Starchild, even when his parents don’t act like he is carrying the title of the last Organa-whatever iteration.  He’s been called everything from Organa-Amidala to Organa-Skywalker, and sometimes two names following the Organa. Ben prefers just Solo if he's honest.

Solo allows him anonymity around political peers, saves him gazes at galas and hushed whispers in courtrooms from wishful thinking compatriots.  He knows what people think of the Organa-Skywalkers, only seeing veiled secrecy and lots of money. Ben didn’t dwell on the money while growing up; it just entered his headspace when he left Harvard and passed the bar.  Suddenly, like someone ripping open a set of curtains, his sheltered way of being was warped.

Being told you were special by multiple parties, from cloth diapers to driving tests, got to your head and sent you crashing into the pavement when you finally realize it’s half-true.  He’s an average person, with reasonable wants and traditional needs.

Marriage is not one of them since he’s been prepared to die alone his entire life.  While his psychiatrist swears that is a terrible form of mental isolation, he could give less of a shit.  Girls never seemed to like him. They loved the name; they loved the cars, they adored the way he donned a suit and commanded a court five days a week.

They liked the idea of him.

The reality of him is an explosive and messy cacophony of loving too hard and too much.  Add in the addition of casual sex with women that are more soul-sucking than that one time he went on a juice cleanse and punched a hole through his office wall because he was so hungry.

He’s starving now, despite the dinner in front of them and the unlimited amounts of champagne that are rotating through the tent.  His wedding band feels strangely heavy on his finger. He understands Rey’s doubts about the diamond now. It’s a given that she’s stacked the legacy engagement ring on top of the matching rose gold band to estimate her finger to be worth a solid fifty thousand.  The diamond, resetting, and resizing on Padme’s ring hadn’t been cheap.

Ben gave her a rock, one she’s bound to for the rest of her life.  The thought drives him to pick up the neat brandy and down it all in one gulp.  Is it bad luck to be miserable at your wedding? Is it bad luck that your wife won’t even look you thoroughly in the eye while she gets increasingly more hammered with every flute of champagne that's graciously offered to her?  Rose means well, but Ben questions if Rey will be able to walk in a solid ten minutes.

They have their first dance, after all, then the cake cutting, then the garter-

Everything is on such a restrictive schedule that Ben feel as if his lungs can’t expand more than they’re allowed to.  Weren’t weddings supposed to be joyous? The only happiness he got was smashing the glass beneath his Louboutin oxfords, to the cheer of the crowd.

That was the only moment where Rey smiled.  Now she’s limp, dead to the wedding and the world.

At least the tent looks beautiful.  His mother had planned this entire thing to a T in only four months, right down to the crystalline glasses and gold plated silverware.  It reeks like the high society he’s used to, which indicates that Rey had no involvement in the process.

Poor girl.  He watches her adjust in her seat and push away her plate of apricot chicken.  While the food is delicious and Rey usually tears into anything set before her, he realizes how hard all of this is to stomach.  The bouquet is arranged in front of her, bloody burgundies and faded oranges with pops of yellow tansy. The navy ribbon wrapped around the base completes the ensemble, matching his uncharacteristic blackened blue tux.  

He shifts in his seat and watches her twitch, eyes glancing to the side to watch his every move.  Rey has been jumpy, understandably so, but Ben’s not sure how he can alleviate her fears that he won’t grab her.  He’s taking the liberty to stand, intending to smoke a cigarette far away and out of sight of general guests. Or perhaps the pre-roll that Caedus had graciously slipped into his pocket for, “when things get hard”.  

“Where are you going?”

Now she cares about him?  Is this because he poured liquor down her throat this morning so she would go back to her room?  Or maybe she wants to rib him about the slight waver in his voice and how he tripped up on his vows twice.

“Smoke break.”

That’ll keep her far away.  

“Okay. Can I join you?”

Ben does a double take from where he’s rifling through his pocket for the lone cigarette he allotted himself.  If he had access to an entire pack, it would’ve been a disaster of nicotine shakes. He’s irritable instead, itching to brush through the grass for any butts or morsels of the chemical that makes him pleasant to be around.

“I only have one cigarette-”

“That’s okay.”

This is all peculiar, but she’s rising and he can’t stop her.  Glancing from side to side, he begins to walk before remembering that they need to be the happy couple.  He holds out his hand for her to take, which she does so automatically.

They’ve learned a routine when it comes to romance. Modesty is essential, along with standing close together and Ben pulling every chivalrous move in the book. Pulling out chairs, opening doors, holding coats and purses, everything his mother had made sure to instill into him from the point where he could rip open a door.

Ben doesn’t mind walking slow for her, the predetermined and tucked away smoking spot worth the traipse through the crunchy grass.  Her walk is more of a crawl, based on the spiked Louboutin heels on her feet and how she picks up her train to keep it clean.

They arrive at a willow tree, yellowing and balding from shedding leaves onto the ground.  The East Coast during Autumn remains to be one of his favorite sights. The way the orange looks plastered on rainy Beacon street, or the first powdery and early snowfall in Stratton, Vermont.  He never imagined it juxtaposed with a day of pain and sorrow.

What had they gotten themselves into?

He drops her hand and lights the cigarette, wondering why he was still holding her grip.  There’s no need for such a claim out here, alone in the woods and away from the people who believe in a fallacy.  “Kinda cold.”

Ben looks up, and without much of a thought, starts shrugging off his jacket.  Rey looks him up and down while he holds out the garment. Taking it without a word, she shrugs it over her shoulders and Ben adjusts his suspenders to her chagrin.

“They make you wear those?”

He blows out the smoke with a nod.  “Typical with tuxedos and suits. I usually wear them.”  God help them and his old fashioned sensibilities. She glances him up and down before stepping closer to him.

Rey never shows interest in anything having to do with him; he wonders what gives.  She answers to him, “You look...good.”

Just good.  He’ll take it.  “So do you. You wear this dress more confidently than the other one.”  As beautiful as the ceremony gown was, he likes the lace and the off the shoulder of her reception attire.  His mother had done a service in suggesting two dresses, as stupid as it sounded in the moment.

“I feel better in it.  Also easier to dance. Speaking of which-”

Ben hasn’t thought about their first dance until now, cerebrum pushing the notion away to protect him from the trauma that he’s about to incur.

“I’m not sure how to exactly...dance.”

Oh thank god, she’s as hopeless as him.  Ben snorts and shakes his head, “Me neither.  I assume we sway? Maybe move a few feet every minute.”

“Sounds like a plan.  Make sure to dip me two whole times.  Keep it consistent.”

He bursts into laughter before sucking down more smoke.  An idea floats into his head and out of his mouth, “Wanna practice?”

She does a double take from where she was looking at the ground, arms crossing over her chest.  “I mean-” Ben tosses the cigarette into the grass and stomps it out, more than half still left.  There’s no time to smoke all of it, not when the task at hand is so dangerous.

“Do you even know what song we’re dancing to?”  That’s an excellent point, and he’s trying to calculate the best way to hold her.  “No clue. Knowing my mother, it’s some old and gooey big band number.” Leia has self-projected all over this wedding, given that she never had a real one with his father.  That’s a fight they often got in, behind closed doors and something he doesn’t like to think about.

_If the condom hadn’t broken, we could’ve had a wedding -_

“I’ll hold here. Is that okay?”  Amid his flashback, he hadn’t noticed Rey step close and touched along his waist.  Her head is tipped up to look at him and he gulps. Thank god for her heels, making his snake around her waist a piece of cake.

“Perfect.  Is this okay?”

“Yes.  I suppose we should like-”

“Lovebirds!”

Ben whips his head to look at Poe, who’s being careful about getting his shoes dirty as he bounds up to them like a golden retriever seeing a pup cup.  He looks to Rey, who looks suddenly so tired and annoyed.

_Great.  Thanks, asshole._

“What do you need?”

Poe looks between them before answering, “First dance time.  Though it looks like you’ve already started-”

“We’ll be there in five.  Now scram.”

Poe doesn’t follow orders from him, but Rey’s glaring has him backing off.  “Will do! Good luck you guys, I can’t wait to watch you trip and stuff-”

“Fuck off Poe.”  

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

First dances are a rite of passage for most girls in their lives.  Prom and weddings put extra emphasis on them, a scary amount that makes the pressure near crushing when they walk onto the wooden dance floor in the middle of the tent.

It’s been cleared of other guests, having more fun at this event than the bride and groom.  This entire thing has been a waking nightmare from the start to the current second. From standing in front of everyone and delivering vows, to her feet swelling up in her shoes and making walking death-defying, all of this is hell on God’s green earth.  Not to mention all the guests coming up to the two of them and delivering their good wishes and women giving jealous or judgmental glares at Rey. If only they knew that Ben Organa-Solo was not the hot commodity most thought.

She fell apart while changing into her reception dress, sobbing like a child with missing candy.  The culprit was Ahsoka’s absence. Sure, Rey knew her mother wasn’t coming to the wedding; Rey had even requested her disappearance from the festivities.  It was enough for Rose to be her maid of honor in this massive deception; she can’t have more of her family attending this. Finn had even been barred from showing up, even though he and Rose have something going on and it pained him.

Ahsoka couldn’t walk her down the aisle, so she had to settle for Han Solo.  While the man was the best and closest candidate for the task, it didn’t feel the same.  The ceremony didn’t last long, standard vows and only a few selected traditions to carry out.  Leia probably assumed that any longer would produce disastrous looks of hate or a slip in confidence from either of them.  Rey’s feeling the first worry.

She’s also feeling the champagne as she steps up to him, minding the skirt and being careful about grabbing his waist like they decided on.  “And now ladies and gentlemen we would like to bring out our newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Organa-Solo, to dance their first dance as husband and wife. Let’s give them a hand.”  

Newlyweds.  This is all real, it flits across his features as she stares in his eyes and feels his hand on the curve of her hip.  They adjust closer; his breath smells like peppermint and she hears the faint sound of gum-snapping in the back of his mouth.  “Nicotine gum?”

“Perhaps.  Come closer.”

She does as she’s told, wrinkling her nose when their bodies touch.  His is a rockhard plane of muscle, making it hard to melt into him as the beginning dulcet chords of guitar starts.  He takes the lead on the sway, taking her by surprise as they begin to move in a rhythm akin to sloshing bath water

_Wise men say only fools rush in_

_But I can't help falling in love with you_

Gag her with a spoon.  Ben seems to agree, snorting and leaning down to whisper in her ear.  “Your feet hurt?”

Of course, they hurt, based on the navy torture shoes she stands in.  She nods, their faces only two inches apart. “Take them off.” That won’t do, based on the people staring at them.  Rey begins to shake her head but he leans to whisper her ear. “You’re fine.  You can stand on my feet.”

_For I can't help falling in love with you_

The heels come off with a quick lean down, breaking their touch for only two seconds.  Rey kicks them to the side of the floor, much happier with the release of her feet and the blood flow coming back.  It’s a quick step onto the tops of his feet and Ben doesn’t seem to sweat it. He moves side to side effortlessly, like a little girl with her father.

Only this is her husband, who looks very nice from this angle but she’ll never admit it because he’s ruining her life with every breath he takes.  If he didn’t exist, she wouldn’t be here.

_Take my hand, take my whole life too_

He dips her low without trembling.  Rey takes it like a champ, and all of this is going unreasonably well for someone who has two left feet.  Ben is doing all the leg work but she’s still participating. Her eyes flutter shut, head burying into his shoulder unconsciously.  He smells peppery with a crisp edge, sealing into her head as _Ben_.

If she really tries, she can pretend this is all real.  That she is dancing with her beloved new husband at their wedding, that he loves her and wants to protect her with all of his body and soul.

That he won’t abandon her.

_For I can't help falling in love with you_

The song comes to a close ever so softly, but Rey doesn’t move off his feet.  They don’t even stop swaying, even when Rose comes into her periphery and picks up the heels from the side of the floor.  His hand drifts to her lower back, rubbing along the notches of her spine and tailbone.

It’s intimate for their relationship’s standing but she leans into his touch.

“Ladies and gentlemen it’s time for our newlyweds to cut the wedding cake.”  Poe’s playing emcee now, despite the glaring from Casterfo. Leia has been typical in her hiring of her friends, especially disgraced political friends.  There’s nothing like food to pull her out of her daydreams, looking up at Ben who wrinkles his own nose.

“Don’t like cake, Organa?”

“Maybe.”

“Boohoo.  Should we go do that?”

“I suppose so, your maid of honor has your shoes.”

They still hold hands.  His gait is long; he’s practically pulling her over to the monstrosity of a cake that Leia ordered.  Seven tiers, artfully unfrosted with fresh flowers decorating each tier. It’s a Pinterest dream, and she just hopes it tastes good frozen since she’ll be eating it for the next month and a half.

Or less, if she’s emotionally distraught like she thinks she will be.

“Shoes.”  Rose holds them out to her, face reflecting that this isn’t a game.  Leia must’ve said something to her, and Rey doesn’t fuck with the system more than she has.  She steps back into them and feels the fresh pain once again. Leia is lingering on the edges, along with everyone and their pretty smartphones.  

The photographer, Cardinal, is lingering with his huge DSLR that she assumes is just for show.  No wedding photographer would need that much manpower. Not a good one, anyway.

Ben is handed the knife, a smart move on Poe’s behalf given that Rey could plunge the knife into herself like some ritualistic seppuku.  Anything would be less painful than this: watching Ben look at the blade and back to the cake. Does he know how to cut a cake, or did his silver spoon leave him unable to use a knife?

She steps closer to him and her head cocks as she watches him gently pull her hand to rest on top of his on the blade.  “Now we cut?”

Rey looks up at him, then back at the immaculate bottom tier.  “Yes please.”

So she doesn’t put her fist through it.

The knife sinks into the vanilla sponge, through the fresh strawberry filling and down to the cardboard base.  Then it pulls out with a quick flourish and plunges back in to cut a slice. They gently set it on a waiting plate before chopping it in half; that’s when Rey takes a deep breath.  Ben could very well screw up her makeup, but the tender way he picks up the cake screams otherwise. She mimics, holding the piece despite the sticky frosting on her fingers.

She blurts out, “Don’t smear it on me.”

Then so quiet that only he can hear, “Please.”

“I promise I won’t.  Open up.”

Rey does as she’s told, parting her mouth as he mirrors her.  The cake pushes past each set of lips to melt into a sugary sweetness on top of their tongues, her eyes never leaving his as her mouth closes tenderly around his fingers.  She holds back from biting down, his digits pulling out with a pop while the crowd of guests cheers around them. The way he looks at her is fodder for women everywhere, eyes crinkled with his eyebrows furrow as if she were a petri dish beneath a microscope.  Then her lips pucker; he delivers the expected kiss gratefully.

Her eyes hyperfocus past his broad shoulder, past all the guests to Leia Organa.  Leia’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy and avoid her gaze. It’s good to know that this is breaking the strong too, even if it’s all her fault.  “Let’s do the garter while I’m sober.”

“It's impossible to get you drunk, given that you’re a huge bull.”

“Huge?”

“Sir, are you aware that you’re literally 6’6 and could probably crush heads with your bare hands?”

Ben slumps his shoulders to refute her point, and she reaches out to push them straighter.  “I don’t think I could crush heads-”

“Did I hear garter?”

Poe is back in his buzzing fly way of being, flushed and sweaty from being drunk.  She wonders how he’s gonna meander through his speech like this. “You’re not allowed to catch it.”

“I’m gay. I don’t want it.”

Her eyebrows raise at him.

“No offense, Rey.”

“None took, but I want my garter back.  I spent a good amount of money on it.” Ben snorts and she slaps his arm as a reflex, “I did.  It has a little dragon charm.” A little way of rebellion on her part that also combines a modest amount of geekiness due to a drunk Game of Thrones binge while she was buying it.  She intends to wear it any second she can.

“I’ll be the judge of that.  Poe, take her to a chair.”

Rey shakes off Poe’s hand as it settles on her shoulder.  “I can take myself to a chair. Do you want me to adjust it down my leg-”

“No, leave it there.”

Oh.  Given the proximity to the beginnings of her Spanx, it’s a bold request.  “Your shoulders could rip my skirt.”

“Unlikely with the slit, darling.”

The pet name makes her arms cross over her chest, eyebrows raising.  “It was a joke-”

“I’m gonna go sit now.  You better not rip my fucking dress, Organa.”

Before he can retort, she’s stomping off and sitting down in a white tulle draped chair on her own volition.  Her eyes flit to Ben and Poe in the same place, and Ben’s cheeks are as red as the thong she has on beneath her shapewear. Poe is giving him a pep talk, evident in his bounciness.

“It looks like our favorite newlyweds are ready to do the garter toss.”  Rey isn’t ready and neither is he, but there’s no time to dwell on the lack of preparation.  Rose is hovering and ready to rip the garter from him if needed. Especially given all the yuppie bachelors circling around the area like sharks with fresh chum.  Ben pushes through them effortlessly, already shouldering off his suit jacket as the music starts to play.

Childish Landino is a bold choice, a lack of solid beat giving her pause as he rolls his shoulders like a man about to run a marathon.  She stares up at him, music drowning out the raucous cheers that would make her flush otherwise. She mouths, “It’s my garter.”

He mouths back an, “I don’t want it.”

They’re coming back to verbal blows and Rey cannot wait just to wash this day away with tears and a scalding bath.  Ben drops to his knees. “Spread your legs for me.” She can barely hear it over the music but her eyebrows raise.

“It’s quicker if you do.”

Rey refuses to comply.

“Please?”

That’s better.  Her legs flop open, hands idly adjusting the dress to give him a place to slip in and start his work.  He takes the opportunity to hunch under the skirt, lips ghosting along her knee and hand coming up to clutch around her left thigh to keep her still.

It’s extraordinarily shameful but she feels herself get wet.  Mainly because she hasn’t gotten a solid piece of ass in over a year, or because she has a ridiculously attractive asshole’s teeth grazing against her soft inner thigh.  Damn her to hell if no one else would get soaked from that, but she can’t stop her hand from pushing down on the moving bump beneath her skirt so his chin presses into her.

That’s when he bites down and she suppresses a tiny moan with a hand clamping over her mouth.  She has to play the innocent bride, especially when he bites again and takes his sweet time to get to the garter.

This is a huge mess.

But she loves it.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

This has to be a sick joke.

Ben slams the door behind them in the bedroom of her ostentatious bridal suite.  Lavender floral wallpaper with gold detailing drapes the walls along with high ceilings and the one huge bed in the middle of the room is wrapped with similar satin sheets and a white ruched duvet that screams “president’s daughter”.   It’s the perfect place to lay with your new husband and consummate the marriage.

Putting her and Ben in the same room must’ve been a mistake.  There’s no way he would’ve been stupid enough to do so-

“They canceled my room last minute.  I figured I would just sleep on the couch or something.”

Her new husband, nothing more than a stranger with great hair behind closed doors, isn’t welcome here.  Neither is the way he’s shrugging off his suit jacket and towering over her with an insane amount of intimidation that he doesn’t seem to notice.  “Can’t you go sleep with Poe or something?” The shotgun shaped cufflinks settle on the end table by the chaise lounge. Leave it to him to express his distaste in mother of pearl.

Ben pauses on his tie, strangely intimate as he looks down at her.  She realizes that she’s fully clothed still, pins still in her hair and uncomfortable shapewear just gracing beneath the open back of the crepe dress.  Spanx makes it hard to breathe without gasping, and Ben makes it even more complicated when he steps forward.

“I tried.  He’s busy.”

The air quotes let her know what the word means.  Poe Dameron is getting significant tail while the newlyweds just stare at each other with a combination of frustration and regret.  Rey wants him to know every ounce of pain he’s causing her, how much his family is taking from her.

Nothing leaves her mouth, and his tie comes off.  Her husband is slowly disrobing in her room and-

_No no no.  It’s not supposed to happen like this; You hate him._

“You look like you can’t breathe.”

Her answer leaves like a snap of spaghetti into boiling water, “I can’t.  Can you turn around?”

His eyes are unwelcome as she gets undressed and she’s not eager to give him a show.  Even if he’s legally her spouse. Ben turns around without protest and Rey feels comfortable enough to begin unbuttoning the back of her attire.

The process is so long that she doesn’t even notice when he’s in his boxer briefs and rifling through his primly packed suitcase, that includes a load of packing cubes and Tetris placement in contrary to her philosophy of throwing everything in one bag and sitting on it to zip it.  

His body is cut from marble, so honed and carefully built that she envies his discipline and the thick muscle that cords his torso.  Rey wraps her arms around her naked chest; bra discarded long ago. It’s hard not to feel embarrassed or feel her chest flush at the vibes of dormant sexuality.

“Can you toss me a t-shirt from my bag?”  Her Spanx is still on but she’s given up. Ben obliges, stopping his own search to focus on zipping open the burgundy and pink Adidas duffle that has gone everywhere with her.  It’s stuffed to the brim with unorganized clothes and trainers.

“Should be close to the bottom.  Also, a pair of panties if you don’t mind.”

Ben begins to rifle through and Rey takes a moment to step away to the bathroom to start letting down her hair.  Her veil and another garment bag is holding her ceremony dress to hang on the back of the door. It’s hard to function when confronted with relics of shittiness, but each bobby pin slides out.  “Where do you want me to put these?”

She’s not thinking, “Bring them to me please.”  Her breasts are out but it’s too late to reconsider telling him to stop.  The pocket door cracks open, wide enough for his hand to poke through with the University of Virginia tee and lacy black panties in his grip.

Of course, his lingerie taste would be black.  Rey takes them, and the door closes with no pleasantries exchanged.  Thank god, given that she’s not sure what to say. The makeup comes off with a vigorous scrub of three makeup wipes, seven dollar moisturizer following it.  Her mouth is minty fresh from the peppermint toothpaste, and that's when she begins to roll the Spanx off.

It’s tedious and frustrating but she manages, revealing her fresh Brazilian wax.  If Rey is honest, she likes a little hair down there. Or maybe she likes the illusion of choice.  Either way, the panties kiss her skin and the t-shirt is soft after repeated washes.

She feels like herself in this ensemble, ruffling her wavy hair to break up some of the hairspray that held it together.  Then she exits the bathroom to Ben on the phone, murmuring quietly. Who could he be talking to at this hour?

“I’ve gotta go. Thanks.”

He hangs up the phone and plugs in the charger, setting it beside his makeshift bed on the chaise lounge.  Ben is longer than the cushions but he’s not one to broker with. “Who was that?” Ben’s not surprised by her presence, sweatpants clinging just beneath his navel.  Rey wants him to cover up in any layer possible, mainly so she can stop biting her lower lip at the way he stretches to plug in his phone.

“Do you have a shirt you can put on?”

He ignores her, “Car service for tomorrow.  Why did I bite you?”

Oh fuck.  The question of the hour, apparent in the way his eyebrow raise when he says it.  Why did she push on his head? Why was his first instinct to bite?

“You’re bruising already.”

She looks down at her thigh, at the blooming olive-tinged purple marks.  Two sets of teeth, breaking skin and blood vessels to create an ultimately sexy sight.  “You bit me because you’re a monster who can’t control himself.”

A beautiful beast.

Without missing a beat, “Yes.  Yes, I am.” He owns his dominance like a brand, so contrary to the meek and mild Ben Organa she’s known in front of friends and now family.  Who knew that marriage could bring the powerful asshole out of a man this quickly.

She’ll stomp on his neck to show him who’s boss.  He steps closer. Her chin stays held high, “You don’t scare me.”

“Why did I bite you?”

“Ask yourself that.”

He snorts, “Because you pushed on my head beneath your skirt and it took everything inside of me not to bury my face in your fucking cunt-“

“Watch your language.”

“Fuck you, Rey.”

Before she can handle herself, her body speaks first, “Why don’t you?”

His sharp inhale could be a sign of trouble, but he only stares her down and analyzes every single movement she makes.  From how she adjusts her t-shirt, to the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder, he views her like Mona Lisa in the Louvre.  Only he looks dumber than a typical tourist.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not.”

She’s not sure when the resolve snaps inside of her.  It’s a jagged break, throwing herself at him and pushing up on her tiptoes to meet his lips with a ferocity that takes both of them by surprise.  Rey can’t begin to think of stopping the tangle of their tongues or clash of their teeth.

Only him.  

He’s walking her backward, the back of her knees hitting the mattress and causing her to fall on her back onto the safety of the plush bedding.  There’s no time to think about the rules they’re breaking, the boundaries they’re crossing.

Pulling at the waistband of her panties, he growls, “Take these off.”

She can’t shed the black sheer fabric fast enough as she watches him rip his sweats down his legs.  The Type-A control freak lawyer comes out in how he looks at her, hungry for everything she can give him.  He wants all of her, every shred of her body.

“What do you want?”

Rey likes choices; he must like them too based on the soft graze of his lips over the fabric of her t-shirt, bending down to do so like she's a queen. Is she gonna wear this ratty college tee the whole time?  She's definitely okay with that, given that he has the perfect physique while she still sees a boniness that reads as famine.

What does she want?  Kissing, his cock in her mouth until she chokes, dry humping like teenagers?  The full shebang, complete with his come dripping out of her like a leaky tap?

Her words are traitorous, “Your fingers.” His hands imitate the rest of him, large and intimidating.  Each digit is one she wants to suck into her mouth and bite. Ben is so hot, illogically hot and maybe that's the only highlight of this marriage.  He grates on her otherwise.

“One second.” Ben walks away and she bothers to sit up despite the soreness in her spine from holding her posture like a lady all day.   _Shoulders lifted, chin up, set your hips just like this-_ “What are you doing?” The query leaves her head and a cap clicks.  

Ben Organa-Solo carries lube with him.  Good lube to top it off.

“Were you planning-”

“On jacking off in my own room after my wedding?  Yes, yes I was.” His index and middle are shiny and the lube bottle lands next to her on the bed.  The way his boxer briefs cling to his back and sides makes sweat bead on the back of her neck.

She doesn't mean to say it aloud but it wisps into the air regardless, “You could have anyone you want.”

“I could.  I don't want to.”

What an odd way to live.  Rey’s been depending intensely on a vibrator to push her through the days, worried that if she screws some random in a bar that she’ll end up on CNN.  That would ruin a lot of things. “What do you want?” Ben looks up from where he’s positioning on his knees, being careful about holding his fingers away from the bed.  A prim and proper man trying to keep the sheets intact; Rey could care less, laying back.

He’s staring right at the naked mole rat that is her vagina right now.  “I’m sorry there’s no hair-”

“It grows back, but it’s less messy like this.”  That only inspires the need for the hair to grow back, only to displease him.  She’s not here to be his friend, just fuck him. His thumb lands on her clit and rubs a circle into the nub, knees locking up and breath hitching.

He eclipses the high ceilings and she can’t help the parting of her lips, “You’re fucking huge.”  She feels her cheeks flame immediately as he cocks his head. Then he smiles, fleeting before getting back to pushing tighter circles to spur more wetness at the junction of her thighs.

“I never wanted to be this size but-”  One finger slips in, making her gasp. It’s different when it’s someone else or when it’s a surprise.  “Girls like you seem to like it. I wonder why.” She bites down on her lip and whimpers, both at his efforts and the newfound size kink that rears an ugly head.  

Her body dares to betray her.  “I never thought I’d see you under me.”

“Ben-”

“Do you like it?  Do you like this?”

There’s an edge of insecurity or questioning in his tone, almost as if he can’t fathom that he’s good at this.  More than good, given the second finger. “Yes. More than like.”

“Good.”

She thinks he’s done talking.

“Maybe I can make you happy like this.”

His fingers twist and she gasps, fingers knotting in the sheets and the weight of his words pass by her brain like a fleeting comet.  “Ben, Ben, Ben-”

“Yes?”

The pressure is building in her lower stomach and oddly enough, she feels like she has to pee.  “I need to-”

Somehow his fingers go deeper and it’s her undoing, coming with a muffled and garbled shout of satisfaction.  He stops his work, her legs shaking and his mouth is on her. His licking and sucking are obscene, getting her to come again with another whine.  Then again when he doesn’t stop and she’s whimpering from oversensitivity and sheer pleasure at the fact that she’s never had multiple orgasms in her life.  

Hell, none of her college boyfriends could make her come better than she can by herself.  That’s when she feels the unnatural wetness beneath her on the sheets and jolts up and away from his mouth.  “Oh fuck, did I just piss-”

“No, you squirted after I fingered you.”  He’s wiping his mouth and she chances a look down at her swollen entrance and the liquid dripping from it.  

“Jesus.”

“You got that right.  That’s only happened a few times.”  She briefly catches the proud look on his face as he stands up, cock hard in his briefs.  He’s huge, tenting his briefs with an eye-popping length that makes her mouth part.  Rey decides to be selfish, shifting up the bed more. “Are you gonna-”

“Fuck you?  I’m thinking about it, given that I could just push you to the edge within two minutes.  That wouldn't be any fun.”

He pushes her on her back and lifts her up by her hips as he moves over her.  His cock grinds into her sensitivity, “Now would it?”

Through gritted teeth, “F-fuck you.”  

“I think I’m going to be fucking you, not the other way around.”  Rey wants to slap him, and she would if he wasn’t about to make her the happiest girl in the world for only a moment.

But she can be cruel, “I don’t want to look at you during it.”

The way his face falls makes her heart subsequently break and she’s ready to take it back before he visibly swallows.  “Hands and knees then.”

“Ben-”

“It’s fine, get on your hands and knees and face the wall.”

She’s proactive in making amends, shaking her head as she sits up on her heels with a scramble.  Ben looks bewildered before she yanks him by the hair to kiss him, open-mouthed and sloppy. “Sit down.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me-”

She bites his lower lip and pulls, making sure she’s tough to get her point across.  

“Do what I tell you.”

Their lips part and she scoots aside so he can sit on the edge of the bed.  “You ever do this before?”

Rey’s eyebrows furrow as she sheds her t-shirt.  “Fuck? Do I look like some virginal-”

“This position.  It’s basically impaling yourself.”

How dare he insinuate she can’t handle him?  Sure, she’s never had a big cock inside of her but she assumes she can do the same things.  “I think I’ll be fine.” She straddles him while she grumbles it, arms draping over his shoulders as she scoots.  

“Help me out, please.”  Rey lifts off him and his hand scrambles to position himself right at her entrance.  She takes a deep breath, then looking him in the eyes. They glow in the lamplight, despite being whiskey brown and darker than the depths of the Atlantic.  

_I could love you if it wasn’t forced._

Rey sinks down to make the thought white out, eyes squeezing shut at the sting.  Evidently, it’s been awhile. His hand is supporting her lower back, face burrowing into her neck to press kisses anywhere his lips can manage.  “Fuck, Rey. _Fuck_.”  It hurts to bottom out but she manages with minimal gasps, nails digging into his back to create puffy pink tracks.  

She stops to stretch to him, crushing her arms around him.  He whispers, “You did so well. Good girl.” Kissing along her ears, she rolls her hips at his work.  A tight fit is an understatement. Her hips move testingly again, the position a strain for her shaky legs, but she’s committed to being held in arms that aren’t her own.  Rey wants to be touched, worshiped, even regarded as royalty by people. She wants to be somebody. Ben does so, kissing along her throat and breathing ragged against her shoulder when she begins a half-confident and slow ride.  It feels so good, pain edging the pleasure that knots up at the base of her back.

“Look at me.”  For once, she does as she’s told from his lips.  They make full eye contact, and it’s like looking at the sun for the first time.  Since when did Ben Organa have such fanned out lashes? Or since when did his brows crease in such a cute way-

His hips buck and she yelps at the push against her cervix.  “Sorry.”

“You should be.”

“You like it though.”  He could be right but she’ll never let him know.  Rey kisses him instead, parting her lips for his tongue and taking the focus off and sting out of the act.  He tastes like gin, of bad mistakes and whispered regrets. Of horrible wedding vows, of a sad situation.

Ben still tastes good throughout it all.

“We should do this more often.”  He mouths the words against her neck, pulling away from her lips to bite down on the flesh.

“You wish.”

“You’ll be begging tomorrow.”

She doubts it but if it constantly feels this good, she could get used to this.  He keeps it emotionless while maintaining a pedestal for her to sit on above him.  Compared to all other sex she’s suffered through, this is preferable. Especially when his hips buck again and she whines, knotting her hands in the back of his thick hair.  His hand comes between the space to thumb at her clit, pushing her close to the edge again.

“B-Ben.”  The way he makes room for himself guarantees stuttering.  He looks her in the eyes expectantly, letting her slow down.  “You c-come first.” She hates being selfish.

“I’ll come when you do.  Promise.”

She lets her body relax, tense from holding back and letting him lift her up and down on his cock with a brutal pace like she’s a fucktoy.  That pushes her out of the plane and into the open air, coming apart with a soft whine into his throat, arms constricting around him as he spills into her with a groan that’s surprising from his lips.

They slow together, halting with a shudder and she’s lifted off of him and set on her back off to the side.  Rey is cold, hugging her knees to her chest with a shiver.

“I suppose cuddling is out of the cards.”  She turns her head to look back at him, still sat up.  

“I need a bath first but...I’ll get back to you on that.”  The marriage is coming back to her with full force and her vision goes a little blurry.  She’s sore as she gets up from the bed, walking awkwardly to the bathroom without another glance back.  Opening the pocket door, she ducks into the dark.

Covering her mouth, she begins to sniffle as she turns on the bathwater.  Then cry, muffled by her mouth.

She’s supposed to be happy.

Why isn't she happy?

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The marriage still hasn't sunk in, but the sex has.  Mainly because he feels it in his entire body.

The marriage didn’t register at the courthouse when they signed the papers and the weight of what he’s been dragged into is only at the back of his cerebrum.  One day, it’ll hit him. That’s when he’ll lose his shit, destroying anything in his path to compensate the unwelcome addition into his life.

He’ll never hurt her, the girl who never asked for such a thing.  Only this night; he stole a towel to settle over the soaked sheets.  She needs a place to sleep that’s not wet.

There’s nothing he can do to stop this now, signed and sealed in a courtroom and for the public to see.  Ben is married, a bonafide husband who can’t even like himself, let alone take care of someone else.

Sure, he can make her come, squirt across the bed.  But what else can he do for her?

The night is cold, a typical New York November temperature that makes him shiver with his lack of shirt as he stands in the balcony doorway.  There’s no way he’s going in to check on her in the bath, not up for a heavy confrontation.

So he waits.

Then there’s soft sobbing from inside, muffled poorly into what he assumes to be her hands.  There’s an edge of croakiness that makes his larynx uncomfortable, but he lets himself focus on the door.  What is he supposed to do?

The cough that echoes through the bathroom is akin to tuberculosis lungs, and he wonders if the poor girl is going to die so early in the marriage.  He rises to press his ear against the door

_That’s not funny, you fucking asshole._

Ben opts to ask, “Rey?”

He pushes the door open and the dimmed overhead light illuminates her swollen face and shiny cheeks.  Her eyes are most definitely bloodshot, but the most concerning thing is that she can’t breathe longer than to say, “Ben I’m scared.”

That gives him pause, staring at her with uncertainty thrumming in his blood.  He’s worried that this is a trap; he’s could get screamed at or shoved like a baby bird from a nest.  Ben’s flaw that he’s is defensive, concerned with everything that he shouldn’t be. The blanket of security falls upon Rey, as much as he wants it to stop at her.

The way her breath comes and goes in a stunted and shallow rhythm makes his stomach turn and heartbreak.  She’s panicked, and he’s horrible at soothing these types of things.

“Rey, can you breathe for me?”

Does marriage mean comforting your wife that hates you?  Does it entail wanting her to run in front of a bus at some point?  Ben can’t loathe her, no bone in his body will let him forget about her outrage at this entire scheme.   

This is his fault by proxy.

Isn’t it?  He can’t think that through, holding out both hands to her to clutch.  “I want my mom.”

She’s garbling heartbreaking sobs and coughing more.  Ben can’t help how he pulls her into his arms barring the edge of the tub, and against his chest to cry.  He can’t begin to care about the snot smearing across his chest, only her tears hitting his shoulder and how her body rattles.  Rey doesn’t shove him away, yell at him, or slap him.

She weeps; Ben will push the image from his head until he can breakdown about it in the privacy of his own home.  Her hair is soft beneath his fingers, and he can’t help the soft shush from his lips. “Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head but the blood trickling between her legs and into the bathwater gives him a heart attack.  “Are you sure?”

“I got my period.”

He feels infinite sympathy, especially given that he could’ve prodded her cervix or accelerated the process.  He wishes he could do something. “I never get my period.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My stomach hurts.”  His hand reaches between them to settle across her typically flat stomach, relieved the bloating isn’t just from liquor or cake or whatever else she’s managed to shove into her mouth.  He tries humor as she adjusts further into his embrace, uncaring about the edge of the tub. “At least it wasn’t while you were wearing white.”

She sobs harder and he winces, “Sorry.  Can I do anything?”

Her head shakes and she coughs.  “Just hold me, please.”

Ben’s willing to do anything to make her stop crying.

They stay like that, a public husband and wife that wish they weren’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to this thing has been so heartwarming. a quick reminder that comments fuel me and keep me writing! otherwise, thank you so much, i'm so blessed.
> 
> thoughts and feelings r welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [chapter title inspired by “sweatpants” by childish gambino](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fanJQv7a248)
> 
>  
> 
>   _links and fun things_  
> [I made a Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/sleeveofshame/organa-solo-wedding/)  
> [wedding venue](https://www.oheka.com/wedding-event-space.htm)  
> [bridal robe](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/AQhO5HoCLEMjMdiFLg18jOfvw_7JFCv9j16kpncW4XsjoOUB08RZUaw/)  
> [ceremony dress](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/317926054944076383)  
> [ben’s tux](https://www.neimanmarcus.com/p/tom-ford-oconnor-base-shawl-collar-tuxedo-navy-prod194970038?ecid=NMCS__GooglePLA&utm_source=google_shopping&adpos=1o2&scid=scplpsku167410658&sc_intid=sku167410658&gclid=Cj0KCQiAn4PkBRCDARIsAGHmH3cUQ-xozYseuTFISArDtgRiwTjia3eRRgftYy2DeDnkWtb9BlL5-p0aAnTjEALw_wcB)  
> [cufflinks](https://www.cufflinks.com/shotgun-cufflinks.html)  
> [reception dress](https://shop.nordstrom.com/s/bliss-monique-lhuillier-embroidered-off-the-shoulder-trumpet-gown/5042043?origin=category-personalizedsort&breadcrumb=Home%2FWomen%2FThe%20Wedding%20Suite%2FWedding%20Dresses&color=silk%20white)  
> [torture heels](http://us.christianlouboutin.com/us_en/shop/women/so-kate-618337.html)  
> [for i can’t help falling in love with yooooou](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GR6L_C0Ii6s)  
> [the infamous garter](https://lagartier.com/collections/garters/products/mother-of-dragons-limited-edition?variant=22292318715962)


	3. so we f*ck till we come to conclusions (all the things that we thought we were losing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you’ll excuse me-”
> 
> “You don’t like the truth, do you?”
> 
> The two women gaze at each other before Bazine looks back to the task of powdering herself. “You may be married but don’t get too comfortable. You’ll be on the tabloids in a year with your divorce.”
> 
> Rey keeps walking, shoving the bathroom door open before stopping. “It’s good to meet you, Bazine. I have to get back to my husband.” A wisp of wind carries Rey to the door.
> 
> “Did he tell you that you’re a good girl?” 
> 
> She stops in her tracks and doesn’t dare look back at the undoubted sneer on the woman’s face. “My sex life is none of your fucking business.”
> 
> “So he did-”
> 
> Rey whips around and charges at her, stopping just short of her face. Their heights are on par, the heels giving Rey a disadvantage on intimidation. Just one more inch would be enough. 
> 
> Rey snarls, **“Mind. Your. Fucking. Business.” ******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **it's tags time it's tags time **:  
> ****  
>  mention of animal death  
> dysfunctional sex  
> parental issues  
> permanent injury to a main character

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat it.”

“Please, Ben.  Please, please, please.”

If you had told Rey that she was repeating an act that she’d sworn she’d never redo again, she’d call bullshit.  Rey never goes back to things, never lurks with the ghosts and ghouls of prior times. Instead of their wedding night, it’s a Wednesday morning with the golden light streaming through the sheer curtains of her spacious bedroom, pale blue bedding pushed down the mattress and leaving her feet chilly.  Ben keeps her warm, on top of her and drilling a path into her that is all his own.

Sex happens four times a week, on different days and mixed times.  It always starts the same: a knock on the door, a shuffle inside when she grants him permission to come in, nervous and bouncing feet.  Things unravel pretty quick after that, on her shove and volition.

Other than the trysts, they avoid each other like the bubonic plague.  It’s to keep the semblance of independence, mostly working due to the six-level townhouse they exist in.  Ben manages to never be in the same place as she is, out of the common areas and in a place like his office or smoking a cigarette on the rooftop.  

The only problem is their bedrooms being on the same floor.  He takes the master, locking it away except for the few occasions that Rey sees the darker room and the sparse furnishings that make her wonder if he’s a vampire that sleeps in a coffin.  

Her bedroom is more personal, much like her one at her college apartment in Virginia.  She’s painted a pastel blue accent wall, art and Polaroid pictures of her friends hanging on a wire.  One of Finn’s Virginia Tech basketball jerseys hangs, along with a small flag and little medals detailing all of her accomplishments in college.  Her degree sits astride all of it, in a fancy scalloped frame that Ahsoka had gotten custom for her.

Ben has a strict daily routine while she remains free as a bird.

On most days, she can hear the ding of the built-in elevator, meaning he’s back from the gym and unwilling to run up the four flights of stairs.  Then the pad of his feet, and that's when she always peeks at his sweating and shirtless form retreating down the hall, throwing his gym duffle outside of his door to sort through later.  

She wakes when she wants, eats whatever her heart desires for breakfast, wears the grossest sweats and comfiest sweaters with mismatched socks.  Any twenty-something would be delighted by the prospect, but it scares the living shit out of her. Rey has to be doing something or she gets antsy.  She needs constant projects or constant hope of productivity. Instead, she has no job, no money of her own, and no way to escape the media that lurks in the shadows of Boston.  CNN may be based out of New York and DC, but they make sure to keep people around in Boston to photograph and report on the presidential hopeful Leia Organa and her brood.

His fingers press into her throat as he thrusts into her, fluttering around him and gasping for air.  “Faster.”

“Greedy girl.”  He follows her wishes, hips snapping quicker and punishing her thigh with his vice grip to hold her leg open.  The three thousand dollar bed groans in protest, each thrust knocking the creamy wood headboard to scuff up the white wall.

Rey hears the phone begin to ring from downstairs, arms wrapping instinctually around his neck to keep him close and his attention on her.  “You feel so good, please-”

“You want me to come in you?”

“Please come in me.”  His hips stall, finally getting the permission they’ve been seeking, and he spills into her with a suppressed groan into her neck.  She trembles in oversensitivity, having come long ago. It’s a wonder that she’s still alive.

Their breaths find synchrony, Ben leaning up on his elbow as he pulls out of her.  Then he swipes a finger on the side of her pussy, collecting any errant cum. Her mouth opens and his finger dips inside, letting her suck it clean in a lewd act that made him fuck her again after she did it last week.

She swallows the bitter and salty fluid when he releases it.  His face nuzzles into her breasts while her hands card through his hair.  “Was that good?”

He always asks, no matter how loud she whines or how much her legs shake after.  Rey nods, “It was great. Thank you.” He hums before sitting up, reaching for his cellphone on the bedside table and checking the clock.

“Your mother is coming in on an Amtrak right?”  Ahsoka is finally visiting for the day, having seldom contact with Rey since the wedding.  Rey didn’t mind the lack of talking that much, given that Rey was still steaming after the event.  Now she wants her mother, in any capacity she can get her. She nods in response and he flips his phone around to show her the time.  

11:06.  “Shit.” She nearly jumps from the bed, high-tailing it into the en-suite bathroom.  She turns on the shower and hears him pad across the floor to lean in the doorway and watch her.  Rey waits for the water to heat, barely noticing him or how he looks up and down her body.

She decides to participate in pleasantries after awhile.  “What are you doing today?” She opens the shower door but can still hear him when she steps into the scalding spray that unknots her muscles.

“Late brunch with my mother.”   

“Sounds more than fun.”  More like hell. The grapefruit body wash smears across her skin and she scrubs until there are bubbles.  

There’s the hint of a shrug in Ben’s cadence, “Tradition.  Tell your mother I said hi.”

She wants to roll her eyes but doesn’t let herself.  “Of course.” She washes off the soap and washes her face, minding getting soap in her eyes.  It wouldn’t be a good look to show up with red puffy eyes to see her mother. She hears the bedroom door slam behind him and pokes her head out to confirm his absence.  He’s truly gone, clothes off her floor.

Stepping out entirely, she wraps up in a towel and begins the work of putting herself together in a limited amount of time.  Ahsoka’s train arrives at 12:15 and it gives her little time to dry her hair, let alone look presentable. She’s always concerned about the media that sometimes camps outside of their house, even though Ben does an excellent job at keeping the two of them insulated in the fortress of the townhouse.  Whether it's parking her Cayenne in the garage or calling the police every time he’s peeved enough, she relishes that protective and mediaphobic attitude he serves up like an all-star special at a Waffle House.

She knows her car is in the garage and that her outfit choice isn’t too important, sliding the blue and baggy mom jeans on her legs, tucking in a white tee.  She adds a belt and a leather jacket, breathing deeply as she looks in the mirror. Rey feels more like herself like this, instead of a powdery blue sheath dress that looks too much like Padme Amidala.

She’s not willing to look like a dead woman every day for the sake of media.  Rey walks back into the bathroom to begin blow drying her hair, messy and a little frizzy.  She knows Ahsoka will care less, and she bounds down the stairs to the first floor, ripping her purse off the hook by the hall door and hearing the blender whir in the kitchen.

Curiosity hits and she peeks her head into the kitchen to watch him dump a disgustingly brown liquid into a glass and tip it back to chug.  “Yuck.” She steps into the kitchen to lean against the stainless steel fridge, glancing around the dark mahogany cabinets and dark countertops in the galley kitchen.  He sets the glass on the counter.

“Protein shake.”

She would say something foul but she keeps her mouth shut.  He continues, “Do you and Ahsoka want to join my mother and father and I for brunch?  My mother really...misses her I guess.” That’s rich, given that Leia is probably Satan in Ahsoka’s eyes.  After all, she ripped her daughter away and whisked her to Boston to marry some oversized Hades with great hair.  All for a cabinet seat if Leia Organa manages to get elected.

“Perhaps.”

“Let me know.  We make reservations.”

Of course, they do, since Leia is the most anal out of the brood.  This could be interesting and she’d instead love to watch her mother throw a drink at her.  She takes a leap of faith, “Sure. Count us in.” She steps closer to him to pick up the glass, setting it in the sink.

“Rey?”

She glances back at him and his breath is low and deep.  “You look good.”

Her thank you catches in her throat, so she only gives a simple nod.  Knowing that’s not enough, she steps closer to him and teeters on her tiptoes, kissing him on the cheek.  His hand falls to her waist.

“You know you don’t have to come.”

“I am.  No worries.”  Patting him on the back, she pulls away and walks out of the kitchen, her cheeks hot and body heavy with an unidentifiable feeling.  She squashes it down as she slides on her sneakers, biting her lower lip and heading out into the garage. All the keys hang on a hook and she catches the door with her foot.

“Can I take your BMW?”  It’s sleek and Rey digs fast and inconspicuous cars, BMWs blending into the scene of Boston like an invisibility cloak.  The white Porsche Cayenne that she had been given from the Organa apartment (at Han’s insistence) is identifiable now, and she doesn’t want to be followed with her mother.

“Go ahead.”  She glances to the M5 and rubs her hands together, grabbing the keys off the hook and unlocking it with a chirp.  Sliding into the driver’s seat, she takes the time to adjust the legroom from his mile long distance and pictures his knees up to his chest when he gets in the car again.

It gives her something to giggle at, backing out of the garage and into the alleyway behind his home.   _Their home,_  he likes to remind her.  It’s always during sex when she’s worried about being too loud and it never seems to leave her brain.

He’s too soft for someone of his status.  

The drive to the Amtrak station is uneventful, too slow for her liking.  At least she can stare out the window at the orange and yellow leaves that are falling from near barren trees, rain-slick pavement under her tires and businessmen and women with strollers or power suits strolling along the streets.   Boston, while not her home and never will be her official home, is beautiful during the fall.

The car door closes behind her and she shoves her hands in her pockets, hightailing it inside of the pristine station.  They live in an affluent area, everything less dingy here and more prim and polished. A train comes rushing by, Rey leaning against a pillar while waiting for it to screech to a stop.

She counts seconds then, watching the doors open and jumping on her tiptoes to look for her mother in the crowd.  Sure enough, Ahsoka Tano is strolling along with only a tan backpack and characteristic hiking boots. Her mother, when not rocking a suit, keeps it simple in plain outdoor gear.  

“‘Umi!”  People look at her, but it gets the woman’s attention and Rey runs.  She nearly tackles her mother with a hug, unwanted tears springing to her eyes as she crushes the woman in her grip.  Ahsoka rubs along her daughter’s spine, shushing her as Rey’s body rocks with cut loose sobs.

“Don’t cry, habibti.  I’m right here.” She holds Rey at arm’s length, before brushing through Rey’s hair that she had messily thrown into a half up and half down style in the car.  The shorter woman stares up at her with a look of the most love in the world.

Rey sniffles and lets go of her mother, wiping at her mascara-coated lashes and smearing her mascara everywhere.  “Sorry ‘umi-”

“Don’t be sorry, darling.  You’re glowing otherwise.”

She can’t help but laugh and look down at her feet.  “I wish I could say it’s the marriage.”

“I saw the photos, you looked absolutely beautiful.”  The fact that her mother probably saw them in Vanity Fair, which had bid the highest for the awkward and stuffy wedding photos, boils her blood.  Ahsoka is still brushing through her hair, even as they move out of the way. “I wish I could stay longer. I’ve missed you.”

Rey nods and sniffles again.  “It’s okay. Vermont needs you.”

“They do.”  Ahsoka adjusts her own hair, a luscious raven black that is the envy of Rey’s entire life.  How she wishes she could’ve been born to the woman. Instead, she doesn’t know who gave her life.  A sick predicament. They begin to walk, Rey holding her hand tightly and leading the way outside into the cold.  

“Ben invited us to brunch with his parents.”

Ahsoka hums, “How are you two?”

What a loaded question.  “Good. Well as amazing as we can be, given the circumstances.”

Ahsoka hums in response and the car chirps.  “He seemed like a good kid growing up. Never was around him but his mother never stopped gushing about him.”

Ben’s upbringing seems to be the type to produce a model child, but how he holds himself indicates otherwise.  He’s stifled, caged up for no one to unlock. At some point he’s going to blow. She doesn’t want to think about when that will be, or where she’ll be when it happens.  She can barely handle herself, a wife incapable of contemplating supporting her husband’s emotional distress in opt for her own turmoils. Doesn’t marriage share problems?  Is she really alone in this? Her mother is gone, her friends are fading away, her grip is slipping on the cliff of herself. She can’t handle more people leaving her with someone like him, with a name like his.

Rey did not earn the name Organa-Solo, nor does she want it.  Tano is her chosen, though it never fit quite right when she did introduce herself with it.

“I bet.  Can I come home for Christmas?”  It feels odd to ask but don't married girls have to spend it with the other family?  Shoot some sort of over glorified Christmas card with an armada of French Bulldogs and stuffy mothers and sons?  Though Ben seems to be the type to request a photoshop job.

Ahsoka climbs into the car with her; backpack tossed to the backseat.  She’s already concocting a plan to get a coffee when she answers, “You never have to ask.  You and Ben are always welcome in my home.”

Ben too?  He’d probably refuse, seeming like the no-fun Scrooge type.  Rey is careful in backing out of the space, knowing how her mother always hated her run and gun driving style.  “Ben invited us to brunch with his parents. Of course, if you don’t want to go-”

“It sounds fun. I’ve been meaning to talk to Leia.”

Her mother is looking out the window and Rey can’t help how her harsh tone emerges, “Are you sure?  We don’t owe them shit.” She knows she’s right, but Ahsoka hums in the wise old woman way that infuriates Rey.  Ahsoka is in her late seventies but barely looks a day over sixty. Rey hopes to look that pretty one day.

“I miss her.  She’s Anakin’s daughter.”

“Clearly.”

It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it, regretting it in the pit of her stomach as Ahsoka sighs deeply.  Anakin Skywalker is a no-no subject, but since the wedding, Rey has been angry. More than angry, boiling and steaming away.  “Leia is not like her father.”

She slams the brakes in the Dunkin Donuts drive-through, unable to breathe. However, she can argue. “That’s why I’m with her son, though. Because of her fucking father and her need to win-”

“You do not understand what’s at stake in this election-”

“Stop treating me like a fucking child!”

She shrieks, more tears springing to her eyes as the car in front of her moves forward.  Rey’s chest caves before she inches forward, her mother is looking her up and down as if she’s a fucking monster.

“You have no idea what I’ve had to sacrifice for others.  I’m  _tired_ , mom.”

Ahsoka stays quiet and Rey rolls down her window, leaning out instinctually to bark into the order box.  “Two large coffees, a dozen of surprise me’s.” She’s usually more polite, but Rey can’t begin to pull it together.  Not after her outburst.

She doesn’t pay attention to the total, rolling forward and staring straight ahead at the rain spitting across the windshield again.  “I tried everything to keep you out of this.”

Ahsoka continues before Rey can wisecrack, “Everything.  So did Ben. You have no idea what the resistance was like on his end, his mother said as much.”

“I bet he was pissed.  So am I, but it’s only about Ben.  Ben this, Ben that, perfect fucking Ben.”

“He’s far from perfect, but he’s Leia’s son.  If there’s anyone I would have you with, if I had a choice between two evils, I would choose him.”

⎨💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎⎬

She’s late.

Not that he cares but Leia certainly does, glancing around and over her mimosa as the seconds tick by.  “She is coming, right?”

Ben sips the dark and overly frothy beer, “Yup.”  Good for her for being late, sticking it to the metaphorical man.  He continues, “She’s with her mother. Cut her some slack.”

As if summoned, he watches Rey enter the restaurant with the Egyptian woman in tow.  Regrettably, Ben’s never met her mother and this is not the setting he’s wanted to do it.  There’s no better time than now, and he stands up to pull out both chairs. Rey plops down without a word and Ahsoka stops next to the chair.  “You must be Ben.”

“The one.  You must be Ahsoka.” Ben holds out his hand to shake but she goes for the hug, squeezing him tightly and leaving him momentarily speechless.  There’s no way this woman likes him, not after all the bullshit his mother is putting them through.

Almost to refute his thought, Ahsoka goes to hug Leia and Rey watches in a mix of horror and confusion.  He sits down next to her, taking another long sip of his beer. Rey opens her menu and flips through the pages, then looking over at him.  “You cleaned up.”

He glances down at his pale grey tie before adjusting his cuffs.  “I try.” Her hand reaches to straighten the tie, intimacy swirling between them like steam from a cauldron attempting to concoct a love potion.  How he wishes he could love this girl, but the circumstances are too fucked.

Realistically, they’ll divorce in two years.  One if his mother loses the nomination, and they’ll rinse their hands of each other and that’ll be all.  Their shelf life is short, weird harmony even shorter. He’ll set her up for the rest of her life because he’s a nice guy, and she’ll be able to love who she chooses.

He’ll die alone because that’s what he wanted initially.

“How’s Vermont?”

Here come the politics, Ben looking over to his wife.  Her nose wrinkles as the menu snaps shut, set in front of her and phone coming out beneath the table.  They’re all cutting into her mommy time and he takes a moment to get out his own phone.

Copying the newest picture of Poe’s Bichon Frise, BB, dressed up as a ladybug, he airdrops it to her phone.  Her smile is visible and she stares at it for a long while. “Republicans are trying to flip red. I expect we’ll win by a landslide as usual.”

“1988 wasn’t that long ago.  Hux is radicalizing the worst of the worst, and you’ve seen the news.”

Ben airdrops another photo of BB, this time with his head out the Subaru window and taken when he and Poe went on a road trip to Niagara Falls with the pup.  She saves that one also and starts flipping through her photos.

Suddenly a photo of a big black Persian cat fills his screen.  There’s no context. “Who’s that?”

Rey looks over, “Rebel.  He’s Finn and Rose’s rescue.”

“Looks awfully pampered for a rescue.”

“Oh you didn’t see him when they first got him.  Mangy little thing that hissed at anyone. Eventually, he softened up.”

“The state of healthcare is overwhelming-”

“Can we lighten up?”  Han interrupts the entire table, Ben and Rey both looking at the man and how he sips at his identical beer like he hadn’t said anything.  Sometimes he loves his dad with all his heart; this is one of those moments.

The waiter comes by to distract further, Rey perking up.  She launches into her order as soon as she’s given clearance to.  “Blueberry pancakes, eggs over easy and bacon. Also a bloody mary.   Oh and a side of fruit.” She gives a winning smile before looking to her mother, picking the direction of the order circle.

He’s last in the rotation, order memorized.  “Eggs Benedict, extra hollandaise with a side of fruit.”  He pauses in further contemplation before shrugging, “Fuck it. I want a French toast too.”  Maybe if he buries himself in food, he won’t be expected to hold a conversation.

The waiter walks away and Rey stares at Ben like he has six heads before looking to Han.  “Where do you get your Porsche parts?”

That launches them into their own conversation while Ben twiddles his thumbs and avoids his mother’s gaze.  “Ben, am I correct in remembering you practiced law?” He looks up to Ahsoka’s kind and otherworldly blue eyes.  For her complexion, a creamy russet tan, they stick out. The keyword of  _practiced_ stings.  He wants to be back in a courtroom, bad.  He’s not willing to go to private practice when his mother is so saturated or close to political stardom.  He’s not ready to live in a shadow.

“Yes, financial.”

“Ah, that must’ve been hard to stop.  Not to mention Snoke’s presence on the other campaign.”

Ah, the regent to the king.  Hux, as much as he likes to boast about being the cusp leader of the free world, knows deep down that their former boss will forever influence him.  It’s a cushy gig: all the money, the clout that Snoke holds in exchange for the maximum power and say on what backward fuckery he wants to enact.

Whether it’s abortion rights, the stripping of mental health care, or gun laws, Snoke gets an absolute say.  Luckily the two align on a lot of issues.

What the public doesn’t know, what his mother doesn’t and can’t realize, is Ben could’ve been in the same position as Hux.  He had been offered as much, in a dark oak office about three weeks before Ben would leave for good.

_“You and I could bring this country to heel.  With your mother’s clout and your surname, you could win by a landslide.”_

The offer had been tempting, so alluring that Ben couldn't help but consider overnight.  It had been the hardest decision to leave it behind, to hop onto his mother’s bid and service the likes of Poe and the entirety of what she lovingly called “The Resistance”.  Cute campaign names wouldn’t be how he operated, but his mother liked morale boosting.

He doesn’t know why he's done it sometimes especially as his wife looks at him like that, like he’s done something wrong and she can see the soul that regrets it and feels shame for even thinking of it.

Ben’s not meant to rule a country; he can barely get a girl to like him.  Sure, he can fuck her until she screams for him, but when it comes to sitting in front of his family and her mother and bouncing his leg in anxiety, he’s hopeless.  “Not to mention that, yes.”

God damn, he wants a shot of everclear now.  His phone vibrates.

**| Rey - 2:36PM  - |**

can we talk outside?

Gladly.  He looks over at her and nods, before looking at the three other adults at the table.  “I need to take a cigarette break.”

Rey is transparent as glass.  “I need fresh air too. Can I come?”

“Of course.”  They both rise without another word, Ben pulling a menthol cigarette from the pocket of his slacks and leading the way outside the front of the restaurant.  

Rey bites her lip when they step into the chilly air, “Who’s Snoke and why did you pale when he got mentioned?”

He sighs, “Former boss.  I quit when he and Hux began prepping to run.”

Rey stares.  “What did he do to you?”

Do?  A lot of things he’s still talking to a therapist about.

“Hinged my career on loopholes and faulty books.  It’s a wonder I never got fucked.”

“You’re done with him.  Be honest with me.”

He doesn’t hesitate, “We haven’t talked in a while.  So yes, we’re done.” Somehow the man can pop up at a moment’s notice, but he’s been left alone for now.  

“You promise?”

Ben holds out his pinky as he sparks the cigarette and blows out smoke.  She wraps her own finger around his and they pinky swear. Their hands drop back to their sides.

“Did I ever tell you about Unkar Plutt?”

He knows of the man, mainly from the PI that dug into Rey’s life at Leia’s request, wanting the chosen wife to be squeaky clean.  There had been no more details besides a foster father. “You didn’t.”

She looks at her feet, at the dirty white sneakers on her feet.  “He was my foster father up until fifteen. Nasty man, practically the worst man in the UK if we're honest.  Well besides murderers and shit.”

He lets her continue, “He...I understand you and Snoke.  Maybe it was all different and maybe you feel different, but someone getting in your head, twisting it around and telling you that you’re nothing, is horrible.  And I’m sorry if I’m assuming, but I just…”

This girl is laying out her cards and he can’t help but interrupt, “You’re not alone.”

She never will be.  Not on his watch.

“Neither are you.”

Ben reaches for her and she steps into his grasp, letting him pull her into a tight embrace that makes him abandon his cigarette to the pavement.

He doesn’t want to stop holding her.

⎨💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎⎬

Rey’s learning that all these galas are the same.

The same people, same labels, same snooty attitudes that are all high and mighty for donating to another charity for hungry people.  She wants to get on her socialist high horse and proclaim that their politics are the reason why people are going hungry. Radicalization isn’t a good look for the Organa-Solo name, so she keeps her mouth shut.

Galas are the bane of her existence, especially ones she has to travel and get too dressed up for.

Being the fluttery and pretty wife will never be her one desire but Ben makes it a little bearable with how much liquor he lets her drink to smooth over the jagged edges of her crackling spitfire demeanor.  The questions are particularly infuriating.

_“How’s married life?”_

_“Oh, you looked so gorgeous in your wedding dress!  What was the designer?”_

_“I heard you talked to so-and-so at your nuptials-”_

Every single one came out like a squawk from a nosy older woman whose husband had to be so monotonous if she wanted to talk to Rey.  Her newfound status lapses her awareness all the time, apparent only when she notices the whispers or glances. She’s the hot new thing in the political wife circle; fresh meat and a wild horse just waiting to be broken in.

“We both like our slow days between campaign days.  It’s been a crucial aspect of our marriage so far.”

Ben’s full of shit.  Their “lazy days” are spent away from each other, except when he crawls and makes her clutch at her three thousand thread count satin sheets and beg for a rapture.  That’s the only time she feels in harmony with him, able to coexist with his mouth on her or his cock inside of her. He elbows her rib and she’s ready to send the heel of her mirrored Saint Laurent pump through his foot.  

Her smile is false, “It has been.  If you’ll excuse me, I need to go freshen up.”  Rey can feel the pins digging into the back of her skull and she idly wonders if she can rip them out yet.  Or perhaps rip off the thong beneath the black and white gown, a torture garment covered in sequins in the art of winding monochromatic roses.  The dress fits tight, the sequins rubbing against her skin and the bodice revealing her lack of waist. Rey might now have budding abs to kill (thanks to Ben’s personal trainer), but she can’t stand the famine her body has experienced in the past.  

She moves from his side, tuxedo-clad arm dropping and the other raising to tip the whiskey on the rocks into his mouth.  Rey doesn’t look back, shuffling through the crowds and keeping her head down so no one notices. She’s planning on disappearing near a Picasso or in the photography exhibit.  The first order of business is to head into the ladies room, bursting into the bathroom like zombies are chasing her.

Rey checks beneath each stall, all empty before she skids to a stop in front of the fluorescent-lit mirror.  The counters are a lady’s dream; fluffy towels, dinner mints, and tampons. Even a pack of makeup wipes sit in view, and she takes advantage, ripping the single-use package open and checking for any bleeding of her red lipstick.  There’s a little on the corner of her lips, scrubbing the offense away. Proper ladies don’t smudge their lipstick.

She’s had enough with the thong beneath her gown, rolling up the bottom and reaching under her skirt to pull the black and slinky piece of fabric down her legs.  She tosses it in the wastebasket and resets her dress, the door opening as the material settles.

A leggy black haired beauty enters the bathroom, posting up two sinks down and pulling a gold compact from her clutch and clicking it open.  “Rey Tano, right?”

She hasn’t heard her maiden name in a month, chilling as the November befallen upon New York.  Rey looks over to size up the thin woman, angular cheekbones and blunt bob. Her dress is also black, a scandalous bandage material with a Bardot neckline.  If Rey can clock her designers right, it’s Herve Leger.

Brave girl.

“Yes.”  

Her dull green eyes flit over in the mirror as she presses the powder puff to her t-zone.  “Bazine Netal.”

The name rings no bells.  Should it? Rey decides to be polite and offers a tight smile.  “It’s very nice to meet you, Bazine. Lovely night, isn’t it?” If Rey didn’t want to be dragged behind a car, the entire event would be a dream.  

“You know you’re quite the lucky girl.”

Of course, she is, because Ben is some piece of perfect filet mignon that any iron deficient witch would sink her teeth into.  Rey just got the absolute torture handed to her on a comely silver platter. “Too bad he’s an asshole.”

Rey’s head whips over to look at her and Bazine exposes her canines in a smirk.  “Did no one tell you about how he drops women like a vet’s office puts down dogs?”  Rey smooths the sides of her dress and steps away from the sink.

“If you’ll excuse me-”

“You don’t like the truth, do you?”

The two women gaze at each other before Bazine looks back to the task of powdering herself.  “You may be married but don’t get too comfortable. You’ll be on the tabloids in a year with your divorce.”

Rey keeps walking, shoving the bathroom door open before stopping.  “It’s good to meet you, Bazine. I have to get back to my  _husband_.”  A wisp of wind carries Rey to the door.

“Did he tell you that you’re a good girl?”  

She stops in her tracks and doesn’t dare look back at the undoubted sneer on the woman’s face.  “My sex life is none of your fucking business.”

“So he did-”

Rey whips around and charges at her, stopping just short of her face.  Their heights are on par, the heels giving Rey a disadvantage on intimidation. Only one more inch would be enough. Rey snarls, “Mind. Your.  **Fucking.** Business.”

Bazine doesn’t cower nor shrink.  Rey whips back around and stomps out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it to breathe hard and bring her boiling temper to a simmer.  In and out, her lungs heave and fall.

“That took a while.”

Her head whips up from the polished white tile, staring Ben Organa-Solo straight in the face.  He eclipses her view, as usual, broad shoulders set straight and his bowtie a little too loose for her liking.  Rey makes no move from the door, feral demeanor never waning as she looks at him.

Ben gets the hint and steps back one step.  “Who’s in there?”

Rey leans off, quick as a shot, and storms past him.  Before she can get far enough away, he grabs her bicep and pulls her back.  “Fuck off-”

“Rey, don’t make a scene.”

**Don’t make a scene.**

She makes a scene, ripping her arm from him and before she can stop herself, she spits at him.  The wad lands on his cheek, and his mouth drops open as he stands there in stunned silence with her drool dripping off his cheek.  Rey would regret it if she were lucid, but she’s too far gone to give a shit.

He wipes the spit off with the palm of his hand, “Fuck you, Rey.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Good.  I don’t need your approval of me.”

He shakes his hand off and gazes at her with contempt.  “Go tell your ex-girlfriend she’s a good girl. I’m sure she’d love to hear it.”

Realization dawns on his features, like shutters opening on a window to let in the sun.  “Bazine?”

She answers with a harsh nod, arms crossing over her chest.  Ben rubs along his jaw, then looking back towards the women’s restroom door.  “She works for Hux’s campaign.”

“Even better.  I’m so glad I fucking met her, Ben.  Really.”

“I didn’t know she would attend.”

“I’m sure-”

The women’s restroom door begins to open and Ben rips her towards him.  Bending down, his lips slam into hers and Rey cradles his broad chest as Bazine passes with a disgusted look on her face.  When she’s gone, she shoves him away and studies the red lipstick staining his mouth. She wipes it away like a mother would, spit on her thumb and on her tiptoes.   “She’s nothing you should be concerned with.”

“What I get concerned with is not yours to determine, Ben.”  She shrinks back down and before her thumb moves away, his lips press against the pad.  If she were any further deranged, she’d strike him across the face. Something tells her that he’d like that right about now, a masochist seeking his perfect sadist in the form of a heel clad forest fire.  

“I can’t even think of other people right now.  Just you.”

The vulnerability hits like an ice pick into her frontal cortex, leaving her stupid and slack-jawed.  She just spat at him and he’s baring his soul like a folded hand of cards. “Maybe you should-”

“Prove it?  I can prove it.”

She wants to laugh but he continues, ‘We can leave and I can show you the ways I can prove it.  I can teach you everything I want to do to you.” He’s backing her into the wall, and usually, she’d push and run for her life.  This intrigues her, the slow work of it and how he towers over her to speculate. Rey chooses to traipse closer to the dark, flirting with it as she settles her hand on his broad chest and gnaws on her lower lip.  

His face drops close to hers, eyes flitting to the wall behind her and then back.  “Let's get out of here.”

“Now?”  

Ben nods, hand reaching down to rub his thumb along with the dip of her waist.  “Unless you have a better idea.”

She’ll give anything to get out of here, shuffling closer before burying her face into his neck.  His hunching gives her easy access to bite a mark into the side of his neck, sucking over the teeth marks until she’s forced to release with a pop.  He cradles her jaw when she pulls away, before tucking her beneath his arm and beginning to walk.

“Do we tell anyone we’re leaving?”

“The media will catch it outside.  Let's go to coat check without getting flagged down.”  Their movements are always strategic, given their saturation in the media these days along with Ben’s height.  They both stick out like a sore thumb to anyone looking for a conversation or someone to impress. They’re rushing through exhibits and through the central area of the gala where a few fat cats watch after them with speculation.  Meshing into the line for coat check proves easy, Rey reaching into his tux jacket pocket for the elusive tag reading 695. She reaches for her phone stowed in his pocket also, pulling it out and unlocking it to her overwhelming email notifications and a few texts from those who matter.

**| Finn - 8:06 PM |**

that dress???  stellar on you. enjoy new york

**| Rose - 8:33 PM |**

you’re walking funny, sharing a room again???? 👀

**| Poe - 9:02 PM |**

Tell Ben to text me back, now preferably.

Rey ignores the last one and they reach the front of the line.  The tag is exchanged for a Burberry trench coat, along with a Givenchy handbag.  Her life is significantly different in more ways than one, shrugging on the coat before slinging the purse across her shoulders.  “Ready to leave?”

They had driven here in a car service, riding pretty in an Audi while Ben’s nose wrinkled the entire time at the fact that it isn’t the BMW he had requested.  Sometimes his brand of blue blood brat grates her, but the feelings are staying away as they begin the trek to the pick-up area of the MOMA. His hand is tangled in hers, walking slow to accommodate for her heels.  “Please tell me we don’t have to do another of these for a month at least.”

Ben looks down at her, “We have one when we get back from our honeymoon.”

Ah, the honeymoon.  A monstrosity of a week vacation at the Organa-Skywalker home in Aspen, to appease her need to snowboard.  She wonders if he’ll be able to keep up with her on the slopes, or if he’ll fall behind due to sheer mass. Rey supposes she’ll get her answer in two weeks.

The met steps are an arduous process in heels but they make it down to the bottom, waiting for an Audi to pull up.  There are paparazzi on the other side of the street, flashbulbs popping as they wait. They still hurt her eyes, but she knows that if Leia gets the nomination in the summer, she’ll need to toughen up even more.  Ben seems to be seasoned in this type of exposure, prevalent all his life.

“What are you thinking about?”

They play this game sometimes, trying to be more open with each other.  

“You.”

She glances over.  “You look absolutely beautiful.  It’s hard to resist.” Rey will have to check the tabloids to see how hard she’s blushing, or how needy she seems when she tugs on his sleeve to bring him down for a kiss.  It’s all for the public, and maybe a little for herself.

A car honks, and they break away to scowl at the Audi.  Ben takes the lead, opening the door for her and helping her lift her dress as she climbs in.  She hurries to the middle seat, not bothering to go the full way. He shoulders in, slamming the door and frowning at the driver.

She decides to distract, nosing along his neck to entice him to pay attention to her.  Ben is a simple creature sometimes, so it works. He whispers astride the shell of her ear, “Spread your legs for me.”  The dress restricts her movement and she sits up to hike the skirt over her knees. His hand dips beneath the fabric and his thumb rubs along her folds.  

Her legs lock up and he chuckles into her hair, “You’re not wearing any panties.”  He rubs again before unclicking her seatbelt and pulling her to sit in his lap.

He looks nervous as he whispers, “Call me sir.”

Rey’s never used a nickname with him, so this feels odd and brand new.  “Yes, sir.” She bites her lower lip and he spreads her legs again, bypassing the formalities to dip a finger in and twist.  She gasps into the palm of her hand, wriggling as he continues his ministrations.

“When did you take them off, sweetheart?”

“Huh?”

A second finger pushes in for a tight fit.  “Your panties.”

Her answer is pure stutters, “In the bathroom, s-sir.”   His laugh is a rumble, pushing her up against his lap like a ragdoll.  The position is compromising for her bra-burning attitude but she’s enjoying being manhandled and taken care of for a brief moment.

Then his phone starts to vibrate and his fingers still.  Rey wants him to keep going, holding his wrist in place as the phone vibrates under her derriere and in the pocket of his slacks.  “Baby, let my wrist go.”

“Ben, no.”  She tries to keep holding his wrist and he breaks free, fingers sliding out.  Then she’s being shifted off his lap and onto the leather seats like some delicate vase.  The phone comes out and he answers it despite the begging in her eyes.

She wanted him to keep going.  Now she’s rage-filled, tears welling up in her eyes as she scoots to the other side of the bench.  “What’s up?” His voice is quiet towards the phone, wiping off his fingers on the fabric of his pants and listening intently.  

Rey steams as the conversation goes on, realizing its Poe.  Poe always seems to take priority, no matter what’s going on in the world.  She’s boiling, watching him shift away to look out the window. Something must’ve happened but she could care less.  

Irrationality wins.  

Once they turn onto the quiet street that’s only six blocks from the Organa townhome, she unlocks the car from the backseat and nearly tumbles out at fifteen miles per hour.  Somehow she lands on her feet, Audi screeching to a stop at the unexpected move. Rey stomps away from the idling car as she hears another door slam.

“I have to go.  Rey!” Ben calls after her as he hangs up the phone, breaking into a jog as she walks faster.

“Rey!  Hey, Rey!  Come back, I’m sorry-”  Then she hears his shocked noise and hears a body slam onto the pavement, turning around just in time to watch Ben’s face connect with the curb.  

She jumps into a panic immediately.  “Ben! Shit, Ben!” She runs over to him, skidding to a stop in front of his body on the ground, face down and the curb staining with red.  “Fuck, Ben. Shit.”

Somehow, despite her worries that he’s cracked his head open, he rises shakily off the ground, “Ben-”  The crimson runs down into his eyes, smearing on top of his forehead to his chin. It’s a gruesome sight, horror movie level.

The look in his eyes gives her words pause, feral and angry as he stares her down.  It was an accident, she didn’t ask for him to run after her. Her heart hammers, Ben's hand comes up and wipes the blood away from his face and the gore just keeps spilling.  Rey’s fishing her phone out of her purse, dialing 911. Her finger is about to press the call button when he speaks again, “I bet you’re so proud of yourself.”

That breaks her, Rey beginning to tremble as she looks on.  “You got me, you finally got to hurt me-”

“Ben, please-”

He snaps, “Shut up.  Stop acting as if you care.”  She’s shedding her trench coat and balling it up despite the cold, advancing toward him to put pressure on the wound.  Ben walks backward to avoid her, holding his face despite the slippery red. Tears are welling up in her eyes and her lungs won’t expand no matter how hard she tries.  

“What's the media gonna say?  Huh? What are they going to say about this?!  Fuck you, Rey. You think that you’re so fucking tortured in this entire marriage like I’m some fucking monster.  As if I chain you in my basement and never let you outside.”

She presses call on her phone and turns her back to him, waiting for 911 to answer.  “Ben, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t speak to me, you’ve done enough.  You poor little desert scavenging rat, I fucking pity you.”  The insult hits her like a freight train; she’s quivering after it lands.  He has to know her childhood is a hard pill to swallow. The phone clicks on and she contemplates her entire existence for a split second.

If you had told Rey that she would be standing in an empty New York street, crying over her husband injuring himself on a curb, she would laugh at you.

Too bad things aren’t funny anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey. so before i get comments that are like "how dare rey run!" or "ben should've-", let me be 100% clear that it is both of these trash children's fault, with the combination of wet pavement and a funny thing i call the force. with that out of the way, thank you for enjoying this and welcome to ben and rey's married life. leave a comment, it makes my day (and ive been having a lot of rough ones lately).
> 
> thoughts and feelings r welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> chapter title is inspired by ["heartbeat" by childish gambino](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=alg4Ub76FnM)
> 
> links:  
> [ben's home](https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/175-Beacon-St-Boston-MA-02116/2119932045_zpid/?fullpage=true)  
> [rey's sneakers (bc i think about these things)](https://www.adidas.com/us/stan-smith-shoes/M20324.html)  
> [how hot is ben rn?](https://twitter.com/adamdriveredits/status/1128390338190639104)  
> [what about rey?](https://twitter.com/reysidaisy/status/1142121377064980482?s=20)  
> [bazine's dress](https://www.herveleger.com/HLT6Y459-001.html)  
> [rey's mirrored pump](https://www.neimanmarcus.com/p/saint-laurent-kiki-mirror-pointed-pumps-prod221320116?childItemId=NMX4P4A_&navpath=cat000000_cat000730_cat6340738_cat7040732&page=0&position=4&uuid=PDP_PAGINATION_5549542e19b9df9b3d2a4532c8d7b054_%2BiG-g2HlQU9ZYA-YfmTXBITC)


	4. let's go somewhere far away, baby (make you feel good)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben speaks first, “Can I help you?” Cynical, bored. It cuts her deep in her belly.
> 
> She can’t say what she wants to say; she can’t grovel and apologize. 
> 
> _Please fuck me again. I’ve never felt so alone._
> 
> **“At least look at me.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **tags**  
>  permanent injury to a character  
> cum on face  
> reference to child abuse/neglect  
> a dysfunctional couple

They haven’t had a conversation in a solid two weeks.

You’d think they were Beauty and the Beast, Ben locking himself away from the moment he came home from the hospital to the moment they both arrived (separately) to the private plane that’s taking them to their honeymoon.

Rey’s been staying with Rose and Finn off and on, in the Brighton area that she grew to love so dearly. Some nights are hard to stomach being at their shared home, the nights where she tries to catch him downstairs, and he insists on staying in the dark and refusing to talk to her.

She hasn’t seen his face since the accident, hasn’t even touched him or asked him for anything. He bolts himself in the bedroom or his office, not to be disturbed. From fucking four times a week to gnawing on her lower lip to where she’s stretched out on the private plane that’s supposed to take them away, she can’t help but feel her stomach turn over and stay like that.

What if he refuses to come? Leaves Rey in Aspen alone to be a snow bunny by herself? She’s not willing to admit it quite yet, but maybe she wanted to see Ben in the snow.

Maybe she wanted to witness the look in his eyes or how it melts in his raven hair.

There’s no chance now. Rey has fucked up too much.  Her eyes are red and puffy behind her sunglasses from the car ride over to the airstrip. She doesn’t know why she’s such a sobbing mess, especially over a man she previously loathed. It’s uncomfortable, unwelcome.

Her beat-up copy of Pride and Prejudice sits open on the first Darcy proposal that goes so disastrously. She can identify with it. Almost like clockwork or a sick joke from the universe, Ben lumbers onto the plane. Her mouth dries, throat closing at his appearance. A beanie rests on his head, but there’s a large bandage cut in half on the right side of his face.  

She did that. Well, it was truly just a freak accident, but sometimes she can’t help but take on the guilt. Especially when Ben looks at her like that, face hard and his eyes are glaring like she’s about to attack. Ben makes the knife twist quick, turning and sitting down in the lush seat immediately out of her eyesight. If she tucked herself right, she could see a glimpse of his profile, but she doesn't dare.

Sometimes, late at night, Rey would’ve imagined this plane ride: sitting in his lap, snuggling into each other.

Not this frigid appearance, two new enemies waging war with each other.

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Rey decides to talk to him the night they arrive, working up enough courage to creep up the stairs from her spacious room to the master bedroom at the end of the catwalk.

That doesn’t stop her from pausing at the door for way too long, hand poised to knock with her stomach flipping over. They can’t just do everything separately; it’ll highlight what a joke the honeymoon is. If only the public could see this, the absolute fuckery that their marriage is right now.

Something inside of her screams, and before she knows it, she’s knocking. They’re alone in the house, so he knows who it is. She’s fully expecting to be ignored until, “Come in.”

With a deep and cleansing breath, she opens the door.

It’s the first time she’s seen the master bedroom on the trip, and she hopes it's not the last. Paneled in a rich oak like the rest of the house, a fire roars in the massive hearth, illuminating the room only a little.  

Enough to see him stretched out on the fur-covered bed, a gaudy buffalo check comforter on top of his legs and waist. His chest is out, and that’s where her eyes can trace the full damage from the doorway. The bottom of the scar stops just at the beginning of the swell of his right pec, digging a puffy scar into his flesh that crawls up his neck, up to his jaw, and finally across his cheek to between his brows. It’s less harsh in the dark, easily stomachable. Glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, his hair wet from the shower, a thick book in his grip. He doesn’t speak, only looking back to the text as she shuts the door behind her. She’s entered his space, and yet she can’t traverse further than sitting in front of the hearth, bearskin rug underneath her as she sits back against a perfectly poised armchair. Her feet are cold, and she needs to collect herself.

Ben speaks first, “Can I help you?” Cynical, bored. It cuts her deep in her belly.

She can’t say what she wants to say; she can’t grovel and apologize. 

_Please fuck me again. I’ve never felt so alone._

“At least look at me.”

She obliges, eyes focusing on him in bed and how he sits up. The sutures are beginning to dissolve in random patches on his scar, and she sits up straighter in his presence. At least she can stare him down, prove herself, and how sorry she is.

Ben looks back at his book. Her apology is a viper strike, “I’m sorry.”

He flinches, and she keeps going, “I’m sorry for being selfish.”

She holds on the ground, “For making you feel lost.”

Cracking a knuckle, “Alone.”

Another knuckle, “So alone. I’ll never forgive myself, Ben.” The fire licks another log, beginning to crackle. Smoke floats up the chimney, and she tries to relax in the heat.

His voice is quiet, “Do you remember what happened that night?”

How could she forget? The hospital, the doctors kicking her out of the room and telling her that he didn’t want to see her. Walking back to the Organa apartment to cry alone, tears silhouetted by the city. Calling Rose, coming back to Boston early the next morning. She had run like a coward. “News wise. Do you even know?” He knows she doesn’t pay attention to things like that considering it to be nothing to wade into as a new political wife. She can’t even hold her shit together, let alone comment on the world

“No.”

“Four hostages were killed in Sweden. One was American. And we were out, fucking partying at some gala.”

How could she know that? They were busy; she would’ve begged to go home if she knew. Ben keeps his eyes trained on her as tears blur her gaze upon the fire. She needs to stay strong, unable to look weak in the face of someone so lion-strong. She feels like a lamb, stumbling through the plains where she doesn’t belong and down a ravine to die. She roughly wipes her eyes and rises, sniffling and stiffening up as she looks at the door. Maybe they aren’t meant to talk any longer. Maybe she’s so selfish for being unaware of an American death overseas. A thing that happens every day but magnified in the act of terror.

“Stay.”

She stops, head whipping back to look at him. It’s almost as if he’s said nothing at all, a wisp of words, eyes trained back on his book. Rey looks back at the fire.  

“Why should I.”

“Should what?”

“Stay. You don’t-”

“Don’t what? Ready to put words in my mouth?”

Touche. She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. “I thought what we had was good. I thought it was okay.” What did they have? Mutual hatred? A love for each other’s bodies? Was Rey truly dick drunk? Is she stupid now?

Ben answers, “It was. I liked what we had.”

Ben snaps the book shut and tosses it away from himself. “However, what did we have besides physicality?” Her heart cracks, and she nods.  

He has a point. They’re each others' biggest fans body wise. “Rey, I just want you to understand something.”  

She nods, unable to look at him. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m trapping you with me.” Does she think that? Hardly but the fact that it’s his impression of the complicated web of her feelings is deplorable. She blurts, “Is it my fault?”

Ben is patient. “What is?”

“The cut, did I hurt you, Ben?”

He hesitates for too long, and tears spring to her eyes, for the second time this trip. The first time had been pathetic and silent, this time even more so. “I know it was my fault, Ben I’m so sorry-”

“Come here.” He’s patting the section of the bed next to him, moving away from the middle and pulling the covers further up his form. She wants to rip them back down, to bury into his chest and sob for dear life. She opts to tremble next to him, flopping on her side as she struggles to breathe.

“It’s not your fault.” She shakes her head in denial, unable to listen to him lie to her so easily. Ben reaches out to touch along her face, along her orbital bone to wipe up tears that now pour. She adjusts uncomfortably and looks down at the bedspread.

"I'm angry at you. So angry. I couldn't even bear to look at you after what happened, and now I'm letting you lay on my bed and cry." She's ready to leave again, sitting up awkwardly and huffing deep breaths. He continues, "Stay. Come closer."

"Why, so I can hurt you more? I'm a fucking monster, Ben." She sobs, wiping her snotty nose, and clamping a hand over her mouth. The covers are shifting, and she's being shoved on her back, his body shadowing hers as she stares him straight in the face. The scar up close makes her stomach roll.  

"Will it be there forever?" It's whispered between sobs and whimpers.

Ben nods, leaning on his elbows over her and tracing the baby pink stripes on her new, silk Victoria's Secret pajamas. They're a new purchase, an impulse along with the lingerie that she's foolishly bought. She thought it would be comical to wear it on her honeymoon, surprise her new husband right.

Ben would've laughed. Now there's no such thing.  

His hands squeeze her sides to bring her back to earth, and the full weight of his lower half drops on top of her. It's a welcome change of pace, her legs winding around his waist to bring him closer between her thighs. She wants his cock to rub up against her, anything like what they used to share.

"Don't cry. Please, no." His hand pushes through the side of her hair, and his head dips to the gap between her breasts.

"I was jealous. I shouldn't have run."

His lips press down on her skin, getting to know her breasts again as he slowly unbuttons the pajama top. He's heavy on top of her, almost crushing her as he keeps her distracted. “Bazine Netal is someone you should seldom worry about. Even talk to.”

She defends herself. “She spoke to me. I didn’t know who she was.”  

“Quite a mistake that I can’t blame you for. Though if you did any google search on me-”

“Did you google search for me?”

He stops at the last button of her pajama top and stares up at her. “Of course, I did. Do you think I go into a marriage blind? Plus, one of your exes already tried something with me, like two days after we announced our engagement.”  

She sucks in a breath. “Which one.”

“Kazuda. Got all macho and in my face at JFK. Lift your hips.” She does as she’s told, and his hands slide her pajama bottoms off her frame and toss them across the bedroom. They land haphazardly on a switched off Elkhorn lamp. She’s not wearing any panties beneath, and his eyes go wide.

“You shaved.”

“Waxed.”

“You know how much I like it when you do that.”

He sits back on his heels and roughly pushes her legs apart, she shivers from the cold contact of air. That catches his attention, glancing past her at the fire. “Do you consent?” Consent? Are they really going to fuck, especially after her pitiful tears? God knows this is shocking for someone like him.   

“What are you gonna do to me?” She doesn’t particularly care, given that it’s him and she’s missed all of him. From his head to his toes, and everything in between.  

“We’re gonna go by the fire since you’re cold.” She nods in agreement, and he picks her up as if she’s only a ragdoll. He's delicate around his chest area, making her painfully aware of the puffy pink scar that cuts down his chest. She still doesn’t know how much damage was done to his skin; she’d know if she had been let into the hospital room. What she was privy to was the bloody and ripped dress shirt in the wash, tumbling in pink water, and Resolve stain remover doing nothing to mitigate the red. Then it had been in the trash.

Her back hits the floor, on top of the bearskin rug. Normally she’d cringe at the totally un-vegan approach, but it’s not her home — not his either, based on how he didn’t know how to open the garage. Her bones warm with the flames, eyes glancing to the side to watch them lick across the logs. “Can I eat you out?”

She lifts her head. “No.”

His face falls.

Her decision is a split second, “I want to suck your cock first.” His eyes soften, and he sits up.

“You don’t have to-”

“I’ve missed you. Please let me.” She flips onto her belly, his legs stretching out to let her crawl in between them. His boxer briefs are in her face, the line of his dick imprinted in the black.  

His hand winds through the back of her hair, tugging her to look up at his `grave face. “Don't do something you're not ready for."

"I've wanted to since that night. If we kept going, I would've sucked your cock until you came down my throat. I would've let you fuck me from the back as you call me your whore." She says this as she palms him, hearing his breath hitch and feeling his hand catch her wrist. They still stare at each other with unreadable admiration.  

She begins to roll his boxers off, kissing the top of his hips and becoming intimately familiar with the size of his cock. She's never blown him before, and the notion of doing it on a bearskin rug in Aspen is thrilling. The thatch of dark pubic hair sits at the top, the rest of his cock impossibly thick and impressively long. He's all-around big, which is a blessing. Her hand shakes as she poises it to touch him. "Are you nervous?"

She bites her lower lip, "A little."

Ben brushes along her cheek before straining to kiss the top of her head. "Breathe." She sucks in a deep breath at the command, and he pets through her hair.

Rey is done with being a little girl soon enough. Her lips press against his glans, tongue flicking out to taste along his slit. Her hand wraps around the base of his cock after drool dribbles out of her mouth and hits the shaft, his sharp intake of breath fueling the bad seed inside of her. "You're the biggest cock I've had."

“Yeah?”

She nods, more drool dribbling onto him, and she can’t help the way her eyes cross for a moment as she kisses the tip. He jolts but stays where he is to let her continue her slow play. She sheathes her teeth, finally taking him into her mouth and sucking around the head, cheeks hollowing as she takes more of him into her mouth.

Her fingers drift between her legs, parting herself and rubbing along the sides of her lips to spur on wetness. She shudders when one of her fingers slips inside, unused to the sensation after being sexually dead for two weeks. That’s too long after four times a week, and he seems to know it, locking eyes with her as her head bobs up and down.  

She carries on like that for a while until he slams into the back of her throat, and she hits her gag point. Ben’s hips buck at that, and tears spring to her eyes, his hand coming to stroke through her hair so delicately that a normal person wouldn’t even notice.  

“Such a good girl for me.” He’s so sweet when he wants to be. Rey chokes and pulls off of him, a trail of spit webbing between his cock and her lips. Ben’s cock is slick with spit, except at the base where she couldn’t possibly reach. It stands at attention, hard and red at the head.

“Can I be rough with you, good girl?” It’s all she’s wanted: someone to slap her around these past two weeks and call her names. She’s felt like a total idiot. Ben doesn’t do it out of hate (or she hopes not), but to appease.

Her elbows hit the bed, feet curling on the floor to boost her up as he positions at her entrance with a roughness she’s grown to love. Ben uses his strength to his advantage, tight wound vexation taking over as he slaps her ass. “That’s for everything.”

“Harder.”

She’s crazy for him, and he can tell as he slaps the other cheek, pain earning a bite of her lip and roll of her spine towards him. Rey feels his finger come to part her labia, tip touching between her lips and finally slide past them with a sting that makes her teeth grit as he bottoms out.

“Again.”

Anything to distract and his palm comes down on each cheek. Then he begins to thrust on his own volition, disregarding her comfort for his own pleasure and making her feel used; a cumrag, so to speak. She’s earned the punishment, a sinner seeking remorse for her transgressions against fellow man.

It feels so good, adjusting from the overfull stretch to accepting all of what he can humanly give her. Her legs threaten to buckle as he thrusts up, breathy moans leaving her lips as he reaffirms his grasp on her hips and hits her g-spot again and again and again. His anger tastes so delicious, saccharine on her tongue as her back arches and an uncharacteristic whine leaves her mouth.

“Look at you. You fucking missed this.” Instead of sassing back, she nods desperately and is yanked up to stand as he continues to drill into her. Hand coming around her neck, it is so she can’t look back as he squeezes down on her windpipe hard enough for her vision to pop black at the edges.

Choking would normally freak her out, earn a scratch match rivaling a cat’s. With Ben, it feels different, somehow safe, and controlled as he lets her windpipe go, and her vision comes back a fraction with each cough she emits. “My wife is a little slut, isn’t she?”

“I am.”

“You’re my wife. Nothing can change that.”

Except for divorce, but God would be a liar if he had that in the cards.

“No. Nothing.”

He pushes her back on the bed again, legs splaying out while he slaps her again and shoves her face into the duvet with a harsh grip on the back of her head. “So tight for me. I wish you could see yourself right now.”

She moans desperately, gasping for air as he lets her head go, and she feels as her spine compresses and flexes with each meeting of his thrusts. She’s determined to prove herself, to take all of the bad and the good that Ben Organa Solo serves up.

“You gonna come for me?”

She’s edging there, but he’s clearly there as he pulls out and nudges to roll her over. She complies, staring up at him as she scoots up the bed. “Open up your mouth for me.”

She does as she’s told, and he pumps his cock faster and faster until he finally comes. The stickiness shoots across her face more than in her mouth, touching her cheeks and dripping off her jaw. Somehow he’s managed to miss her eyes, silently grateful for his care. She still manages to swallow the errant cum that hits her tongue, and he’s getting down on his knees and pulling her back to the edge of the bed. “All painted in my fucking cum. You dirty little whore.”

Then his mouth is on her sex, licking messily at the ruin and getting her legs to quiver and back to arch off the bed. She’s already oversensitive, tipping over the edge fast and hard as she screams. Guttural, spent and whiny as he doesn’t stop and shoves on his head when she can’t take another orgasm.

He keeps going until three rolls through her in a neat little row, then pulling away from her. The lack of sensation brings on a twitching fourth one, weak moans coming through a hoarse throat and heavy breaths slamming into her lungs. He waits as she comes down, fluttering around nothing while she struggles to quiet.

She can imagine his smugness as she clutches the sheets, holding in her weak noises.

That’s when his hand comes to settle on the inside of her spasming thigh, so tender that she can’t believe it. “I’m sorry about…” He trails off before gesturing to his face, helping her sit up despite the weakness in her spine and her disorientation that’s so characteristic after multiple orgasms.

She’s tempted to wipe it off with her hand, holding off as she feels it dry with each second that passes. Ben stands up, disappearing from her sight and banging around the bathroom. The faucet runs, and that’s when she gets up, legs shaky as she shuffles into the light oak and porcelain bathroom. Ignoring him or how he holds a washcloth out, she focuses on the tub and turns on the tap. Reaching for the provided body wash, she uncaps it and dumps it into the running water to create fluffy bubbles.

Then she steps in as it fills, slumping down, and finally looking up at him. He’s passive. “Are you going to get in?”

“I can’t submerge for another week.”

Oh yeah. She’s injured him. Taking the washcloth, she wipes her face with a roughness that makes her skin burn. She chances, “Will you stay with me?” Ben answers by sitting on the floor, kicking his legs out awkwardly, and leaning back against the vanity counter. He’s too tall for the bathroom, like everything else.  

“Wouldn’t fit in there with you anyways.”

She shrugs. “I can fold up.” She did sleep in the trunk of a car in a junkyard for a good six months of her life. Scrunching up comes naturally.

“You should come on my face more often.”

“It’s too animalistic to do to you again.”

“I like it when you treat me like shit.”

“I’m going to ignore that.”

Rey can’t help but snort and adjust herself in the tub, arms settling along the edge and her head lying against her forearm. She watches him. “You’re my husband.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re my wife.”

“You ever think it was gonna be this way?”

“What?”

“Marriage.”

Ben snorts now and shakes his head. “I never thought it would happen, let alone be so…”

Her eyebrows raise before he whispers, “Tumultuous.”

She scoffs. “I’ll try to be better.”

He shakes his head to himself before sitting up, leaning towards her and kissing the top of her head. “Forgive me for saying this but if we need to go to couple’s therapy-”

Her interruption is automatic at the suggestion of being together, “We’re not a couple.”

“We’re an unconventional pairing who needs to work out some shit. Would you rather I call it family therapy?”

She can’t help but scowl at him. “Call it therapy.”

“If we need to do therapy, we can.”

“Shrinks, and I don’t mix.” She still hasn’t accepted the suggestion of PTSD from the one Ahsoka took her to. She’s not a combat soldier; she doesn’t have it.  

“Fine. Let me know if you change your mind.”

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Rey’s exhausted when they stop skiing for the day, barely holding out for the ten-minute car ride back to the Organa home.

She falls asleep in his bed after he bridal carries her upstairs, depositing her on top of the bed and aiding in the process of getting her out of the numerous layers that ward away the chill. She’s grateful, complying with his ministrations and the way he flips her over and tugs on her limbs.

The nap is dreamless and shorter, waking to dusk that looks green and spooky. It hints at spitting snow to come. Once she sits up, she notes the glass of water on the nightstand and gulps it down gratefully to soothe her parched throat. She feels the windburn on her face and the cold sweat on her skin, easing out of the covers and stretching out her sore muscles. She knows she’ll need to take it easy tomorrow, perhaps stay indoors and rest up. She plans to rectify that want right now, creeping out of the room and in search of her husband that she wants to cuddle with (for some indiscernible reason). Perhaps she’s clingy, but she knows his furnace heat will ease her aching bones. It’s not hard to find him, posted up in the living room, and on his laptop. From what she can see, he’s looking at the polls, then scrolling down to donation reports. “Thought work was off-limits.” He shuts his laptop, caught in the act, and sheepishly looking back at her. She makes a point to step towards the massive sectional couch, eyes on the television that plays CNN on mute. Rey reaches for the remote next to him, flipping off the cable and switching to Netflix.  

“We’re going to watch a movie and order in.” It’s non-negotiable in her eyes, and he gets the message by setting aside his Macbook. She’s neglected her phone upstairs, but it’s seldom missed as she flops onto the couch next to him. Without preamble, she lays her head on his shoulder while flicking through the plethora of options.  

The silence is comfortable, especially as he pulls her closer and drapes part of the Hermes blanket over her. She traces the black and white fabric with curiosity, feeling the luxe wool beneath pads of her fingers. “Pick something to eat. I don’t care too much.” Reflex makes Rey eat whatever is put in front of her, no matter how unappealing. The clean plate club is non-negotiable, never knowing if her food supply will run out. She’s been stomach twistingly hungry before and never wants to feel that way again.   

He unlocks his phone and ignores how she mouths small kisses against his t-shirt on his shoulder as she picks a sci-fi movie she’s seen before. The premise is just boring enough, dealing with rogue clones and robots. Her attention is on him, still kissing what she possibly can. “How did you sleep?”

“Swimmingly. What did you do while I was out?”

“Read a lot of news, talked to Poe for a while.”

“Do you ever get a break?”

He shakes his head and wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Pizza is ordered.”

“Yum.” Nothing sounds better than a greasy slice of pizza.  

Refocusing on the topic at hand, “I think you deserve a break after all that’s happened.”

“I do better when I’m working. Less to really think about.” She rubs along the top of his thigh and nuzzles even closer.

“If you’re trying to get my cock hard, you’ve gotta go to my inner thigh. That’s my sweet spot.”

“I thought it was behind your ear.”

“I can have multiple.”

“Do you want to fuck, Ben?”

He pauses before, “Only if you want to.”

Rey takes a long breath and contemplates it. Her body is sore, and he’s rough, especially when something is on his mind. She makes her decision quickly, “Maybe later. I feel like I ran a marathon.”

He nods to himself. “Me too. We could make out.”

He sounds like a teenager as he says it, and she giggles. Ben smiles, fleeting before switching to seriousness. His lips part ever so slightly, and she takes the hint to plant a kiss on him that’s chaste at best. “Don’t tease me. You know how much I hate that.”

She continues to laugh before tugging on the collar of his shirt, kissing him full on the mouth. He deepens it almost immediately, urging her mouth open and flicking his tongue along hers. He’s always been a good kisser, knowing what to do with his mouth both under the sheets and in squeaky clean public. Being with an experienced man is a dream, something she craved so dearly for so long.

To be taken care of is the only thing she gives a single shit about. Ben does it flawlessly, even when he’s angry.

He shifts her to lay back on the cushions, pushing himself between her legs as they continue with ferocity and need. She needs his attention now, desirable, and rare for other women. Their mouths detach for breath, and he strokes through her hair as he hovers over her. “Are you going home for Christmas?” It’s only two weeks away (Rey hasn’t even thought of gifts yet). 

Her answer is a split second, “I don’t know.”

Ahsoka does sound appealing right about now, her easy wisdom desperately missing from her life. Rey has cut herself off from most people besides Finn and Rose because its easier after a fuck up. Her mother would see the scar and be disappointed in Rey, at her tryst towards her lover.

It’s up in the air. “We have to take a Christmas card when we get home, but after that…”

_We can separate and see each other after all is said and done._

She’ll miss him though; she knows that much as she stares into deep brown eyes that seem to plead. Does she really want to spend Christmas in a place she barely knows? “I have to admit that I don’t know.” How can she choose between her mother and someone she feels safe with?

“That’s okay. You’re always welcome in our home.”

Then he sits up again, hands drifting along her sides before squeezing just under her ribs. It tickles a little, getting her squirm. He does it again, and she slaps his hand. “Don’t.”

“Why? Ticklish?”

He scratches along her sides, and her body goes wild, twitching as she tries to hold in titters of laughter. Ben finds joy from watching this, continuing his ministrations until she begs, “Have mercy on me.” He stops immediately, and she’s grateful he listens attentively and kisses the tip of her nose.

“You put me in your t-shirt.”

He glances down at the huge black tee on her frame, “I did. You were actively passing out after all.”

“You could’ve put me in my bed.”

“What’s the fun in that? You’re meant to be in my bed.”

“No panties either.” He kisses in the middle of her stomach, over the fabric holding either side of her hips.

He retorts, “Are you angry or something, Rey?” She quickly shakes her head, reaching up to tangle her hands in his hair and pulling his head to meet her eyes. He complies, and she gets a good look at the scar. Puffy, pink, a lot of the sutures are dissolved. Her stomach turns less upon seeing it.

“How could I be the angry one?”

He sighs, “I don’t hate you, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to hate me. You can be mad at me for what happened.”

He growls as he keeps kissing along her t-shirt covered belly, “I’m angry about a lot of things. I’m electing to try to let this one go.”  

“I deserve the worst.”

He rolls his eyes and lifts his head fully, “Don’t act like me. It’s scary to witness.”

“You know it’s true.”

He shrugs and rubs the skin along her inner thighs, earning a shiver down her spine. He doesn’t stop, watching her squirm as keeps going, “Believe it or not, there are plenty of people who have done worse things to me.”

She knows the implication: Snoke. Rey’s Wikipedia searching hasn’t turned up much on the former senator, only previous involvement with Palpatine on conversion therapy bills. Those thankfully didn’t pass, but Palpatine is the one who ripped the Skywalker family apart, and she can’t help but get a turn in her gut every time she thinks about him.

He snaps his fingers in front of her face, and she refocuses on him. “There you are. I was worried.”

“Just thinking. Kiss me?”

He does as he’s told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey its been awhile. i love these two, don't get me wrong, but this honeymoon chapter was meant to be a beast of a 9k and i just couldn't do it. so you'll see part two soon. a reminder that comments are like a fine bottle of red wine for me: typically cried over.
> 
> thoughts and feelings are welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> chapter title is inspired by ["pop thieves (make it feel good)" by childish gambino](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvH_dz0u9yc)


	5. just hold me close, my darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben is white as a sheet.  “Slow down. Accident? What do you mean?” 
> 
> Oh god.  Rey sits up quickly and gets closer to him, trying to listen to the conversation in the receiver.  He wrenches away from her and walks away. “No. That can’t be.”
> 
> Then, “Okay, I’ll be there before the end of the day.  Rey and I will leave right now.” Are they leaving? What happened? 
> 
> She finds herself fruitlessly asking, “Is everything okay?”
> 
> **He responds while he hangs up the phone, “Pack your stuff.  Han’s been in an accident.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **tags** :  
> injured character  
> car accident  
> alcohol mention  
> drunk driving mention  
> deep thoughts about parents  
> distressed ben  
> anal  
> breast play

He’s inside her when Leia calls.

Ben practically pounds into her as the phone rings, trying to find his release as quick as he can while she moans with her knees against her chest.  He’s drilling in deep, and she doesn’t want him to stop, but he has to pull out as the phone starts to ring again.

“Who could need me that bad?”  He pulls out and plants a quick kiss between her brows, her knees still up against her breasts.  

“You’re an important man.”  Rey flips onto her belly and looks at the alarm clock, seeing her mussed hair in the reflection of the black glass.  Ben answers the phone, and she wiggles her butt teasingly as he comes back near the bed.

“Mom?  What’s wrong?”  His hand comes down to grip her ass cheek and squeeze, and Rey looks back at a sharp intake of breath.

Ben is white as a sheet.  “Slow down. Accident? What do you mean?” 

Oh god.  Rey sits up quickly and gets closer to him, trying to listen to the conversation in the receiver.  He wrenches away from her and walks away. “No. That can’t be.”

Then, “Okay, I’ll be there before the end of the day.  Rey and I will leave right now.” Are they leaving? What happened? 

She finds herself fruitlessly asking, “Is everything okay?”

He responds while he hangs up the phone, “Pack your stuff.  Han’s been in an accident.”

Fuck.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Hell on earth is watching Ben crumble into dust by the hour on the plane.  Sure, they only had four and a half hours on the flight, but each minute was felt by his routine pacing or the way he tensed up his entire body and wouldn’t let go.

Rey got the unfortunate spot next to him, holding his hand whenever he savagely grasped it.  He’d hold it tightly, occasionally kissing her knuckles but mostly squeezing the life out of her.  His eyes would get wet whenever he would squeeze.

But they managed to make it home, and the hell didn’t stop there.  Media had gotten wind of the accident and crowded Boston Medical Center.  It’s a fucking zoo to get in, and cameras flash at the way they practically duck and roll from the car.  Ben hides his face with a scarf and hood, knowing the world hasn’t seen his scar yet.  

He leads the way inside, and they meet up with Poe Dameron of all people.  “They’ve shunned me to the lobby, only family allowed up there.” Ben is trembling as he listens, then rubbing along his face as he unwinds his scarf.  Poe looks disheveled as well, indicating it was his only day off of the week. It’s now ruined by this week’s latest accident in the Organa-Solo brood.

Ben looks to the elevators, and he inhales sharply.  “Let’s just get this over with.” He starts for the elevators across the lobby, and Rey doesn’t move from Poe’s side.  She’s not….family, is she? Surely, Ben will want to deal with this with just his mother.

But Poe nudges her, and Ben stops in his tracks when he notices she’s not coming along.  She’s quiet as she gestures to herself, “Do you want-”

Ben nods to cut her off, and Rey hurries to him, walking side by side and waiting for the elevators with their arms crossed over their chests.  She wants to touch him, to hold him tightly off camera. To feel like that supportive wife he deserves, regardless of if they’re married in spirit.

She grasps for his hand, and he takes hers gently, pulling her close to his side.  Rey tucks into his shoulder and bites her lip, swaying as the elevator goes up and up.  “What do you think we’ll see?”

Rey looks up at him, and she shrugs.  “I don’t know. I’m hoping he won’t look too bad.”

He mumbles, “Me too.  Han Solo is a bastard who’s going to live.”

The elevator doors open, and they both walk out and to the ICU nurse’s desk.  “Hi, we’re here to visit Han Solo?”  

“If I could see some identification, we’ll get you set up.  Unfortunately, only two can be in the room at a time, and Leia Organa is already-”

Rey answers, “I can stay outside for a while.  It’s not pressing that I see him.” She’s not an immediate family member, and she figures Ben and Leia can support each other.  

“There’s no need.”  Leia is wandering to meet them in the lobby, tear-streaked and wrapped up in a large puffer jacket that she recognizes as Han’s army-issued fatigues.  Seeing the senator dressed down is a sight.

“You two can both go in after the doctor sees him.  He’s not awake yet.”

Ben swallows visibly and looks at the ground, “What happened?  I didn’t get much information over the phone, all I know is that it’s not good.”  

“Some fucking moron going eighty on a country road near the house slipped on a patch of ice and careened into your father.  He’s got a couple of cracked ribs, whiplash, a crushed leg, and a concussion. He’s on so much morphine that he can’t stay awake.”  Ben rubs along his face and looks towards the door, and Rey holds his hand tightly.

“He’s pretty banged up, but by god, he’s a fighter.”  That makes him snort, and he watches a doctor exit the room.

“You two go ahead.  Visiting hours end in the hour, and I need to get home and refocus my efforts on the campaign before tomorrow.”

“You didn’t cancel the event?”  He sounds horrified, and Leia shakes her head.

“Your father would kick my ass if I skipped a rally, despite his health state at the time.  You’re free to stay home if you don’t feel comfortable.” He looks uneasy, and Leia refocuses on Rey.

“Did you have fun in Aspen, darling?”  Are they actually about to talk?

She’s polite, “It was nice to ski again.”   _ It was nice to fuck your son again. _

“Good, you’re free to go back any time, just let Ben know.  I know you’re partial to Vermont.” More than partial, Rey hates that she grew up anywhere besides the state.  She hates that she’s not there now, hiding in her mother’s bed from the big evil world.

“We should make our way there.  Before visiting hours are closed.”  Ben begins to walk, and Rey looks between him and Leia, Leia watching on in pity before turning around and talking to the nurse at the front desk.  She scurries after Ben, reaching his side just as he opens the door.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Ben knows his father will be realistically okay, but the scared little kid inside of him squawks about the fragility of life.  He’s wasted so much time being angry at his parents for things out of their control.

How did they know they let a predatory financial lawyer into their son’s life, too late on the removal when the influence had become too high.  Ben had cut off his family, his mentorship, at twenty-four for a man who made him stake his career on loopholes and scary clients.

Ben has been a bad son, and his dad probably almost died thinking that.  He grips Rey’s hand as he sees his bruised up father in the hospital bed, intubated and hooked to machines.  No one wants to see one of their parents like that, and his breath is knocked from his lungs.

He walks in anyways, and Rey follows close behind, his whole body numb as he plops down in the chair provided by his bedside.  He whispers, “Fuck, they did a number on you.”

She kneels next to the chair, and Ben leans over and kisses the top of her head.  “You feel okay?”

Rey nods, “Just scary to see him like this.  He looks so...helpless.” Ben can’t agree more, refocusing on his father and feeling his gut turn.  He sees himself if he’s not careful, someone that’ll leave her behind.

Ben doesn’t want to leave Rey behind, even if they’re nothing.  But the sex has to mean something, right? She wouldn’t be fucking him like this if he was nothing but a nuisance.  For god’s sake, they had been fucking before he got the call. Not to mention living together, learning each other’s mannerisms.  Even focusing on the fact that he should buy the strawberry yogurt instead of the blueberry he likes, just because she likes it better.

He stares at his father for a while, blinking slowly and trying to make his brain go blank.  Rey still holds his hand. Eventually, she yawns. That snaps him out of his staring and gets him to look over.  “We should head home, maybe unpack and decompress.”

God knows he needs to cry in the shower and call his therapist if Rae Sloane is available for calls tonight.  He’s sure he can beg for an emergency slot, given his world is crumbling before his eyes, and he feels out of control.  For the first time, he feels volatile and likely to hurt her. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” She begins to get up, and he also gets up as well, looking back at his father before exiting the room with her.

He gets on his phone immediately when they leave, stepping into the elevator as he calls the driver.  “Pull the car around the front. Don’t answer any media questions.”

The driver answers, “Of course, sir.”

Then Ben hangs up, and the elevator lands on the first floor, Ben holding Rey’s hand tightly.  They look put together for having headed to the hospital in a rush, Rey wearing a modest long sleeve floral print dress, Columbia puffer coat on top of it.  Her heels are a low heel but still professional, looking much like his blazer and slacks. His dress shirt is a deep crimson, resembling blood and creating a stain on the photos.

They continue to walk outside into the crowd of media who don’t care.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The decision to decompress at home was a welcome one, even if Ben has been in her shower for more than an hour.  

They’re in her room since that’s where she feels most comfortable sleeping tonight.  She assumes that if Ben wants to sleep somewhere else, like other nights before their honeymoon, he’ll go to his room.  The television plays a home decor show, and she eats greasy pad thai out of the container, still warm despite the delivery guy being on a bike at the start of a massive snowstorm.

Traveling will be impossible tomorrow, but Ben has confessed that he doesn’t know if he’s going to go to his mother’s rally in Sioux Falls.  Rey knows she’s not attending, still on vacation mode, and figuring Han needs some company in the hospital. The shower turns off in the other room, and she adjusts in the king bed, slipping over the white sheets with her bare and shaved legs.  She shaved on the honeymoon, figuring he was tired of sasquatch fur brushing against him every time they fucked.

Eating more pad thai, she rubs her stomach happily and listens to him sniffle and whistle away in the bathroom.  The door is still shut, and she’s tempted to get up and take a peek at him wrapped in a towel, resisting the urge to opt for checking on her phone.

There’s a text from Leia.

* * *

**| Leia Organa - 9:04 PM |**

Tell my son he’s not coming to the rally tomorrow.  You both need a more extended break.

* * *

That settles it.  She gets up and sets her pad thai to the side, walking to the bathroom door and knocking quietly.  “Ben?”

“Yeah?”  He sounds hoarse and miserable, and she makes an effort to open the door.  It’s locked, which spikes her nerves.  

“Darling, open the door.”

He does as he’s told for once and opens it up, wiping his red eyes.  His skin gets blotchy when he cries, or the heat of the shower has affected him.  Either way, her heart sinks. Without a word, she hands him the phone and walks back to the bed, listening to him follow her as he reads the text over and over.

“So I’m kicked off the rally because of my dad?”  Rey shakes her head, shoving more pad thai between her lips and chewing away.  Ben tosses the phone on the bed and huffs, storming back to the bathroom.  

“She wants us to have a break-”

“Since when has my mother gave a shit about what the fuck I need?”

He pokes his head out, and she’s silent to allow him to continue.  He does, “Maybe I want to work. Maybe I want to be distracted right now.  She assumes that I’m going to snap at some fucking reporter about what Hux said-”

Rey interrupts, “What did Hux say?”

He shuts his mouth, and she sits up like a shot.  “Ben?”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

“But I do-”

“Since when do you give a single fuck about politics?”

Ouch.  

“Am I wrong, miss socialist?”

She blurts, “You don’t have to be a dick because your dad got in a fucking accident.” That makes him stop in the doorway, and she finds herself beginning to sniffle.

“Don’t cry.”

She shakes her head to herself and wipes her eyes, getting out of the bed and walking to her suitcase to begin to unpack angrily.  Ben comes up behind her, and she runs into his arms as she turns around to put a folded pair of leggings back in her dresser. His arms constrict around her, and she almost growls, “Let me go.”

“I didn’t mean to be a dick, I just,” he wipes at his nose, “everything feels too fast right now.”

He lets her unwind and keep unpacking, walking back to the bed and sitting down on the tiny polka-dotted comforter.  It’s just small enough of a print to maintain an adult chic. “And I’m horrible with my temper. I want to punch a bag until my knuckles fucking bleed.”

The hint of violence makes her stiffen, and she hasn’t heard him admit to feeling out of control.  “And maybe I will after you go to bed. I don’t know anymore.” Wiping tears off his lips, he then grabs for the rest of her pad thai and takes a large bite.

“I know that’s scary for you, and I don’t want to scare you.  That’s the last thing I ever want to do to you.” He sets the take out container to the side, and his hair drips down his back.  She can watch the rivulets where she stands. Rey puts things in her dirty clothes hamper in her walk-in closet before coming back out, sitting across from him and taking his hands.

She rewards him for the admission with tender kisses along each knuckle.  “I want to kill the man who hurt him. If I could get my hands on him-”

“I’m sure he’ll get his karma, Ben.  I believe in that.”

“I hope so because I’m not going to sit around while some drunk fuck gets off scot-free.  It’s just not fair.” She then begins to stroke through his wet hair, climbing into his lap and grinding down on him.  His hips respond, and his lips capture hers with a ferocity she’s never felt before. It’s ugly and needy, and Rey wants it so deep in her soul that it hurts.

He pulls her even closer on his lap as they lip-lock, hands running down her back.  Pulling away, his lips trail down her neck, nipping at her ear on the way down. She squirms in his grip and feels his hand grab her ass through the t-shirt she’s wearing, sans panties for purposes like these.  

“If I’m not allowed to go to this rally, I’ll just fuck you with my tongue until you can’t walk.”

Rey can’t wait, but she pushes his lips away, looking him in the eyes.  “I’m not having sex with you unless you’re okay mentally.”

Ben stops, and they consider each other for a long while.  Then, “Food first. I just thought-” She presses a finger over his lips and shushes him.  

“That’s okay.  Do you want me to get your food downstairs?”

He nods, and she gets up, walking out of her room and down the two flights of stairs to get to the kitchen and living room level of the house.  Grabbing the take out box of Panang curry, she also makes a point to grab some new craft beer that she found in the fridge. Heading upstairs, she takes each step two at a time.

The television is changed to some alien sci-fi movie now, and the hairdryer is running.  “Have you ever seen Alien?”

Rey calls back, “No.”  Then she gets into bed, setting the food and beer on the other nightstand.  She makes a point to watch it while waiting for him, getting lost in the sci-fi landscape of face-huggers and the unknown.  Ben eventually comes back out and gets into bed next to her, letting her cuddle up close as he begins to eat for the first time in hours.  It’s good to watch him take care of himself, though it’s somewhat begrudgingly.  

“You know I haven’t watched a movie with a girl since college?”  He sips his beer, offering some out to her. She shakes her head, feeling a little out of sorts to be drinking.  

Taking another sip, “Come to think of it, I don’t even think I did it in college.”

She asks, “Too busy trying to take over the world?”  

Ben shrugs, “More like I was a mega virgin nerd.  Thank god I grew out of my awkward phase.”

Jokingly, “You grew out of it?”  He swats her and sets his beer back down.

“I did.  I got all big and strong, ditched the glasses fulltime, and learned how to communicate.  All essential things for any awkward man, in my opinion.”

She finds herself shrugging now, “What do you suggest awkward girls do?  Asking for a friend, of course.” 

He looks her up and down, “Well, I’m sure your  _ friend _ is a fox.  But I like it when a woman walks into a room, and you know she knows what she’s doing.  Gets me hard every time.”

She straightens her back and lifts her chin.  “Like that. You look professional like that. Like I would trust you with my firstborn or something.”

She can’t help but smile, and he reaches out to grab her shoulders to set them straighter.  “Better.”

She scoots even closer to him before reaching for a bite of curry, munching on it before laying her head on his chest.  He strokes through her hair and looks down at her. “You know what?”

She looks up.  “I probably shouldn’t say this, but any man would be happy to be with you.  Regardless of how awkward you think you are.”

Her stomach rolls over, and she finds herself saying, “Are you happy with me?”

Feeling stupid immediately, she then blurts, “Don’t answer that.  I don’t know what came over me.”

He pushes her onto her back and pins her, looking her in the eye.  Then, “I’m thrilled with you. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

A blush warms her cheeks.  “I mean, how many men get a hot and smart college grad piece of ass?”

“Most men in America, Ben.”

“But they’re not you.  It’s different because it’s you.”  That warms the cockles of her heart, and it pitter-patters wildly as he pecks the tip of her nose.

She asks, “What makes me different?”

Ben hums, “You listen and laugh at my jokes.  You also care a lot about social issues, despite being hopeless at political issues.”

“I’m a civil engineer, and I don’t have to be good at politics.”

“If my mother wins this election-”

“I’ll have to care, I’m aware.  But for now, let me live in ignorant bliss.”  He rolls his eyes and looks back at the television, lazing back against the headboard.  He finishes his beer, and she takes the opportunity to crawl back in his lap to block the screen.  He tries to look past her, but she leans back in his way until he gives up.

“You want attention now, huh?”  She nods proudly and sits up even straighter.

Ben nods, “Let me see your pretty tits, then.”  She takes off her shirt at his command, sticking her chest out and rubbing along her pebbled and hardened nipples.  

“You know your body has tells for when you’re wet, right?”

She cocks her head, and he goes on, taking over the work of playing with her nipples.  He teethes them as he talks, “Your nipples get hard, you get this certain flush, and you like being as close as possible to my cock.”

He’s correct, and she feels his tug, wincing slightly.  “Hurts? I won’t do that again.”

He softly sucks to prove his point, “Can I ask you to do something?”

“Yes.”  Rey shoves her chest more in his face, and he practically motorboats whatever little is there.  He manages regardless, and it earns a giggle.  

“Can I play with your ass a little?”  She adjusts a little in his lap and gulps.  Rey’s never been touched back there, not even during her solo play.  

He recovers, “Just a little.  I’ve got kind of an infatuation with it, especially when you wear tight dresses.”

She eventually nods, and he smiles wide.  Then his face slates to severe, and he takes a deep breath to prep himself.  “Okay, hands and knees. Where do you keep your lube?”

She shamefully admits, “I use spit.”

“Oh, fuck no, not on my watch.”  Ben gets out of the bed and leaves the room quickly to go across the hall, and Rey bothers with getting into the position he’s asked for.  He’s back before she knows it, and a cold liquid is being spread right between her cheeks. She jolts forward, and he holds her by the thigh to keep her in place.

“Better than spit, huh?  I’ll refine you, little savage.”  His thumb rubs along the puckered ring before he leans down and kisses it.  She gasps at the sensation of his lips, then his tongue licking a circle.  

She takes his ministrations like a champ, trying to grow used to the new sensations and feelings.  He pays close attention to her ass, kneading her cheeks and licking circles and figure eights. “Someday I’ll fill both of your holes at the same time.  Would you like that?”

The feeling of fullness is something she seeks like a sport, almost like a hunting hound catching a scent.  This is a beautiful threat in her mind, and she moans in response. Ben laughs a hearty laugh that allows a deeper flush to hit her skin.  “You’ve got me scheming now, and my cock is hard.”

She turns around at that and begins to tug on the waistband of his sweats.  “Patience. I want to watch you squirm on top of my cock.”  

She huffs a sigh and captures his lips in response, signifying that they’re about to have a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey it's been a bit, but i hope you enjoyed this chapter. comments are pretty nice so if you want to leave one, i won't protest. thoughts and feelings are welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> chapter title is inspired by ["1. flight of the navigator" by childish gambino](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q8hm0OzlmYU)
> 
> the list  
> [rey's dress](https://www.thereformation.com/products/kellan-dress?color=Yolanda&via=Z2lkOi8vcmVmb3JtYXRpb24td2VibGluYy9Xb3JrYXJlYTo6Q2F0YWxvZzo6Q2F0ZWdvcnkvNWE2YWRmZDJmOTJlYTExNmNmMDRlOWM2)  
> [puffer jacket](https://www.columbia.com/womens-puffect-mid-hooded-jacket-1864791.html?dwvar_1864791_variationColor=010)  
> [rey's pumps](https://www.sergiorossi.com/us-en/pumps-black-godiva/A43842MAGN05110.1000.html?dwvar_A43842MAGN05110.1000_color=A43842MAGN05110.1000&dwvar_A43842MAGN05110.1000_heel=105&pid=A43842MAGN05110.1000&quantity=1)  
> [the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2BPeyoeL5GlObc34K0J8fx?si=lKVnizOoQ6qHObecwG0vEw)

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in development since July and i'm so ready to take you on this ride.
> 
> thoughts and feelings r welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> [work title and chapter title inspired by “sweatpants” by childish gambino](https://bit.ly/2v7Lm1s)
> 
> **the important things ******  
> [lenox hotel](https://bit.ly/2FKMSei)  
> [dome room at the lenox bb](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwj24MiQpKrhAhVri1QKHTyaDXAQjRx6BAgBEAU&url=%2Furl%3Fsa%3Di%26source%3Dimages%26cd%3D%26ved%3D%26url%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fwww.oyster.com%252Fboston%252Fhotels%252Flenox-hotel%252Fphotos%252Fdome-room--v7283268%252F%26psig%3DAOvVaw1QAw0sxnoj0qQfcTWkyEhX%26ust%3D1554049622591061&psig=AOvVaw1QAw0sxnoj0qQfcTWkyEhX&ust=1554049622591061)  
> [rey’s dress](https://bit.ly/2T7Ptm2)  
> rey’s torture heels  
> [ben’s outfit](https://bit.ly/2JVgF8a)  
> [rey’s huge ass engagement ring](https://bit.ly/2YBBx7O)  
> [bio of JFK in case u were wondering](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_F._Kennedy)


End file.
